Surprisingly Not A Bonerkiller: Faded, Crappy Upper Arm Tattoos

I know I should be turned off by faded, crummy tattoos on his upper arm, but frankly, I'm astounded that I'm not. Dare I say it, but I think it's cute.

I'll notice it peeking out from under his t-shirt. I'll smile as I touch it with my finger and playfully ask, "What is this?"

As he pushes up his sleeve, he'll say, "It's supposed to be a family crest. I got it done when I was, like, 19. I thought I was so cool. This one over here? It's my skateboarding crew's insignia. Yes, we had an insignia. Don't laugh. My friends all have it too. It's kinda stupid, I know. I got that one when I was, Christ, 17, I think?" He'll chuckle then rub over the skin wistfully.

I find myself enjoying the mental image of him checking out his fresh tattoo in the mirror. He must've been so proud! Maybe he flexed? Maybe he did a bicep curl to see how it'd look like? Who knows?

These tattoos are so fake-tough, like a leather jacket or a mohawk. As a kid, I'd probably be freaked out about the idea of ever dating a guy with a tattoo, but now I'm an adult and I can laugh about it and realize that it's as threatening as a teddy bear. THEY'RE SO CUTE!

4 Comments

I Love Love Love Guys Who Can Improvise Song Lyrics To Crack Me Up

It takes a special kind of man who can magically transform Creed's "With Arms Wide Open" to "With Legs Wide Open" out of the blue. I wanna hang out with this man. All the time.

We'll pass by a dog walker corralling no less than four dogs and he'll start belting out, "I like big mutts and I cannot lie/ you other brothers can't deny/ when a poodle walks in with an itty-bitty waist and a hairy paw in your face, you get sprung!" I'm laughing so hard, I have to cross my legs 'cause I don't wanna liz.

Or, maybe he'll bust out this choice nug when we're jammin' on burritos, "Tick tock/ get up/ stop. I wanna Mex you up!" Oh shit! I just did a spittake with my delicious Mexican Coke.

Maybe you had to be there, but take it from me, I LOVE when guys do this! Keep it up, you hysterical song lyric wizards.

6 Comments

Bonerkiller: Chapped Lips

Well, this is horrible. It's drier than a lizard's taint on your pucker. I'm not sure if you were making out with sandpaper before you picked me up or if you use your lips to scrub your pots and pans or you're doing some kind of extreme sport where you're exposed to dangerous elements, but your lips are disgusting. Your lips basically have dandruff.

This is a problem for me. Obviously, there's no way I'm gonna kiss you. Hell, there's no way that I even want to talk to you. I have a strict no-chapped-lip rule in all facets of my life: Get the memo!

If this date had an eject button, I'd push it. It's not like you need to find plutonium to get you back to 1985, you just need to NOT look like you've been playing tongue hockey with gravel for the past four hours. Chapstick is available pretty much everywhere so there's no excuse for this. I...I...can't even look at you. Check, please!

2 Comments

Tonight's The Night!

Hey guys! Swing by the Khyber. It's my birthday party. I've gone over the music I'm gonna play and if you don't flip out then you're clearly dead. Or asleep. Click on the image for all the info you'll need.

xoxo,
anna

2 Comments

Bonerkiller: Guys Who Have To Sleep With The TV On

It's always a bummer when we both climb into bed then he reaches for the remote.

"Oh, hey. As a head's up, I gotta sleep with the TV on."

That's a nose-crinkler for me. Grrrrreat. "Whatever," I mumble. I mean, what am I gonna do? Argue with the guy? Technically, I'm a guest in his house. In the interest of being a good sport, I'll agree to give this TV thing a whirl.

However, I will come to regret that decision. As he's chasing Zs in deep sleep, without fail, I'll wake up in the middle of the night with the drone of informercials zipping between my ears. No, I don't want to hear about the benefits of Oxy-Clean right now. What the fuck time is it? Ugh. I'll hover in and out of consciousness until the TV is just too much for me to take.

Now, it has become my mission in life to turn this TV off. But, where the hell are the remotes? Oh, here's one. Wait, is it for the cable box or the television? I think I just turned the DVD player on. Fuuuuuuuck. I'm basically in my own personal version of The Hurt Locker.

All I wanted was to stay over and snuggle this cute dude but now I'm rummaging through his nightstand flicking various electronics on and off like an irritated zombie at Best Buy. Grrrrr x a million.

13 Comments

I Love Love Love Great Gift Givers

I've warned you several times: I don't like presents. If you knew my history with bad boyfriend gifts, you'd understand. It seems as much as I think a dude knows me, he panics when it comes to gift-giving and just assumes I'm either an 80-year-old grandma or a teenage boy. Have you ever seen any indication that I'm the pink teddy bear/scented candle/Russell Stover type? And which of your awesome friends told you that when all else fails, a copy of your favorite movie will suffice? I didn't even think you could still buy The Matrix on VHS but you proved me wrong, my friend.

Bottles of liquor just make me shrug. I guess you thought of me as you passed the liquor store? Great. Gag gifts get tossed in a pile. Thanks for the Beer Beard and all, but what the hell am I gonna do with it besides have it collect dust on a shelf? Jewelry can backfire because it might clash with my style but I'll feel obligated to wear it. If you spend too much money, it's weird and if you spend no money, that can be weird too, depending on the situation. See what I mean? It's a potential minefield! 

So with these and other equally bad gifts in mind, I just save new guys the trouble (and myself the frustration) and tell them not to bother with gifts. Every once in a while though, a guy will cast aside my request and give me something anyway. And it seems every awesome gift I've ever received has knocked my socks off for one reason: THOUGHT. Yes, dudes, good gifts take some thought.

Let's say you heard me gripe a month ago about the sold-out concert I've been bummed about being unable to attend so you went online and found two tickets for double the face value and whipped them out on Valentine's Day. Not only am I completely YOURS because I get to go to the show, but I'm also blown away that while I was sitting there complaining about something, you weren't staring at my boobs or thinking about who would win in a battle between R2D2 and Wall-E, you were listening to me and trying to find a way to make it all better.

So to all you guys who are currently scouring the city for that rare EP your girl desperately wants or driving out to her favorite spot to snap an artsy picture for her, keep on keeping on with the amazing gifts. Your thoughtfulness gives us a reason to stop dreading holidays (and to finally get rid of our VCRs). And that's just awesome.

4 Comments

I Feel I Failed To Impress You With My Spinal Tap Jokes

I must've been misinformed because I was under the impression that guys love girls who love Spinal Tap. And, I thought the fact that I memorized roughly two-thirds of Spinal Tap's dialogue would one day sweep a man off of his feet.

I had a bit of a Cinderella scenario in my head; I'd mutter something about how "mime is money," and he'd take my hand and march me down to the jewelry store to buy our wedding rings. 

It has not turned out that way. At all.  

• "Shark sandwich? Two words: Shit sandwich."
• "None more black."
• Turning things up to 11
• Deli meat freakouts backstage
• Tiny Stonehenge
• "Talk about mudflaps, my girl's got 'em."

No wrinkle of a smile? No knowing nod? No immediate declaration of love at my display of Spinal Tap savvy? Nothing!

SOMEONE LIED TO ME! If I can't land a man based on my ability to recite lines from a rockumentary spoof made over twenty years ago, then there is no god. *shakes fist at the sky*

12 Comments

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Elaborate And Bizarre Computer Setups

This is what I have, computer-wise:

• one Mac laptop  
• one power cord

This is what he has:

• two monitors
• two keyboards
• a desktop computer that he built himself
• a laptop that works
• a laptop that doesn't
• two sets of speakers
• a mouse
• external hard drives up the wazoo

Why does he need so many electronics? Is he trying to stop the DiVinci virus like in Hackers? Is he trying to create the perfect woman like in Weird Science? Is he trying to fortify the compound during a hurricane like in Jurassic Park?

There isn't one square inch of free space on his desk to even put my beer down. I'm just trying to check my email and I think I accidentally set off a warhead. What kind of Wargames shit is this? Oh god. I think something is beeping at me. Which monitor should I be looking at? Yikes!

The only good thing about his computer setup is that it usually has the most comfortable chair in his apartment. It has cushions on it. And wheels. And it spins. Besides that, everything about his computer area is dusty and complicated. The Borg has less wiring than his computer console. In fact, I'm afraid to cross my legs because I might dislodge some wires under there and inadvertently blow the entire thing up. And, that just makes me sad.

21 Comments

THIS SATURDAY: It's My Party And I'll Spin Around Like A Six-Year-Old Hopped Up On Three Capri Suns If I Want To

It's my birthday on Saturday, March 27th so I'm throwing a party. Both Lauren G AND our bad boyfriend, Phil, are playing sets, as well as a few other of my homies. I'll be closing out the night by spinning the most amazing lid-flippers you'll ever hear.

There will be dancing. And high-fiving. And hugging.

Peep the Facebook invite here.

As always, it's free and it starts at 9pm and it's Upstairs at the Khyber. Weeeeeeee!

0 Comments

Bonerkiller: Guys Who Wear Square-Toed, Shiny, Black Shoes

Not to be dramatic, but seeing these shoes on my date is one of the worst things that could ever happen to me. I'd rather he wear L.A. Gear high tops. I'd rather he wear snowshoes made out of cat guts. I'D RATHER HE WEAR THE SKIN OF ANOTHER HUMAN'S FEET than wear these offensive, ugly shoes.

Once I see them on his feet, I am unable to sustain eye contact. I shield my eyes from the horror. I hold back tears. But, he's totally oblivious to my discomfort. In fact, he thinks these shoes are cool and tap dances around as if he's Gregory Hines or some shit.

It is an assault on both my vision AND my hearing; not only do I get to see his square-toed, shiny black shoes, but I get to hear them click-clacking towards me, like a show pony or a bitchy librarian. Oh god, those little heels! It's horrific. I get PTSD just from being within a twenty foot radius of them. I'm rocking back and forth in the corner mumbling like Rainman.

The worst is when we go out dancing and he's slip sliding around the dance floor like Prince--that is if Prince had sizable student loan debt and an affinity for cheap beer. He's shaking those shoes around like they're the bees knees and I'm excusing myself to go order another High Life at the bar and flirt with the cute guy in the Vans.

4 Comments

Pics and Vids: Good News! Guys Have Been Annoying Women With Their Terrible Phone Skills Since BEFORE WE WERE BORN

Why don't you wind the cord around your finger like you're at a slumber party and you want to coordinate your outfit for Friday's dance with your BFF? Don't pay attention to me sitting here or anything. God, why did I agree to go out with this guy?

By the way, you're dangerously close to having a ball pop out of your tennis shorts. Quit waving your testes around like you own this fucking place.

"Why, yes, I'll have another whiskey on the rocks. This time, make it a double. Thanks."

*taps ring against the glass impatiently and rolls eyes*

via Ned Hepburn

3 Comments

I Feel I Failed To Impress You With My CD Collection

I really have to do something about this CD shelf.

Every time I bring a date back to my place, we get to that awkward tour of my room, where inevitably her eyes are drawn to this ridiculous IKEA monstrosity that holds every single CD I've ever purchased since 1990. It's like the monolith in 2001: A Space Odyssey, but instead of emitting high-pitched shrieks to catapult species to the next evolutionary stage, it houses dustbin classics of yore.

Now, look; maybe you've been a super cool kid since 1990, but I can tell you with complete confidence that I was not. And now that you're in my room, I have the CDs to prove it.

Of course, your eyes breeze right past the Hot Chip and Catherine Wheel CDs and my extensive Ryan Adams and Bjork collections. Nope, instead you zero right in on the most embarrassing stuff.

"Wow! You sure do have a lot of Barenaked Ladies albums."

I'm usually pretty good about keeping things organized and orderly in my life. I have no problem throwing away all kinds of old stuff, but the idea of throwing away or selling an old CD just seems to be sacrilege. Sure, I haven't listened to the sweet dulcet tones of "If I Had A Million Dollars" in about ten years. But, that's beside the point! What if I randomly decide I need to hear that song?! There was a time in my life where I wore khaki cargo shorts and had blonde highlights and thought that song was amazing. I feel that in throwing away the CD, I'd be throwing away a little part of my musical biography, as awkward of a chapter as it may have been.

So yeah, you're basically face-to-face with my dark, lame musical past.

I suppose in the meantime, I could pretend my entire CD wall is an art project. I could title it, "Ode To A Dying Musical Format" and then maybe I'd impress you.

In the meantime, though, my CD collection isn't quite doing the trick.

7 Comments

Reader Submitted Quick Rant: Text Me And I'll Text Ya Back

From our reader, Lizzie, who could commiserate with our other reader submission earlier in the week, except in this case, the guy who takes forever to respond to her texts is someone she's already hung out with IRL. 

I am unsure of the appropriate word for the situation I was in with this guy, but basically for three months we had a strictly hook up situation going on. It was very casual; we would hang out maybe twice a week, most likely drink, and--ahem--hit it. I was fine with this situation; it was ideal for the lifestyle I was into at the time. What I was not into was his annoying habit of not responding to texts in a timely manner. This is an example of how the majority of our text conversations would go:

"Hey, how has your week been?" he says.
"Pretty good. Yours?"
About an hour later, I finally hear back: "Busy as hell. Doing anything fun this weekend?"
"Party on Saturday night but I'm free Friday"
Then, it would be another excruciating couple of hours spent checking and rechecking my phone before he tells me that he'll have friends in town Friday and could we hang out tonight instead.

Seriously, dudes? I know FOR A FACT that you carry your phones on you at all times. And this guy had a job with very little supervision. How hard is it to tell me this information in the span of five minutes?

This dude would drag the conversation out over the course of my already stressful workday and make me feel like a crazy person when he was the one that texted ME, not the other way around. This is a mutual booty call situation, we both know how this conversation is going to end, why pussyfoot around it for six hours?!

Anyway, when I started seeing the guy I'm now happily in a relationship with (and who texts back in a reasonable amount of time), I gave this dude his comeuppance: I dragged out the reason why we couldn't hang out IN THAT WAY anymore via text for about four hours. Serves him right.

I don't have anything to add, but did any of you get the reference in the title? It was supposed to be a riff on the Digital Underground song "Kiss You Back." Anyone? Anyone? Aww, fuck it.

5 Comments

Attention People In Philly Who Like To Buy Things

We are doing this today. Swing by. Did we mention that there will be free snacks? FREE SNACKS! Weeeeeeee!

0 Comments

Reposted: Geekadelphia and Shmitten Kitten Present Black Dynamite at the Troc!

From Geekadelphia:

After the success of our Zombieland screening back in February, we are teaming up with Shmitten Kitten and our friends over at The Trocadero for another Movie Monday event. This time we will be showing our favorite faux '70s Blaxploitation flick, Black Dynamite!

The party kicks off on Monday, April 26^th at 6:30pm. The event will be 21+ and a mere $3. Not only does that $3 go towards a drink, but get there before 7pm and get a free bag of popcorn as well. In case you've never heard of the film (shame on you!), the over-the-top plot goes something like this:

Black Dynamite is a seamless recreation (it was even shot on 16mm!) of '70s Blaxploitation classics staring Michael Jai White (Spawn) as the ex-CIA, Vietnam veteran, Kung-fu master and ultimate badass, Black Dynamite.  In a solid nod to the genre, “The Man” has not only killed Black Dynamite’s brother, but is pumping heroin into the local orphanage, and has even flooded the ghetto with a secret weapon disguised as common malt liquor. Of course, Black Dynamite is the only one who can stop him and get revenge for the death of his brother.

To keep the '70s vibe of Black Dynamite going all night long at the Troc, we are going to have a costume contest, with prizes for the person with the most decade-correct apparel.  And after the screening, you can look forward to a '70s disco dance party hosted by Shmitten Kitten, all for $3!

Black Dynamite wasn’t in theaters for very long and I can’t wait to see this film on the big screen.  So come out, watch a film with the geeks at Geekadelphia and party with all the cuties from Shmitten Kitten.

We’ve got a Facebook event page. Feel free to RSVP and let us know you’re coming. See ya there!

This is gonna be awesome. Here's the movie trailer for all of you jive turkeys.

3 Comments

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Hand-Washed Dishes

I spy with my little eye: the milk you drank yesterday with your lunch...in the bottom of my glass.

It was sweet to offer me a beer, even if it's 11am on a Sunday. I couldn't resist because you seemed super excited to pour me a frosty libation in a stolen pint glass. So despite feeling like hot garbage after last night's Hasselhoff-esque beer and burger jam session, I'm going to drink this cheap beer with you and even propose a toast for proving last night that you DO in fact know all the words to every song in The Little Mermaid. Bravo.

But, as adorable as you are, I simply cannot choke down a PBR with milk residue floating in it. A quick survey of your sink shows an ancient sponge that--I'm going to assume--smells like rotten Indian food, a bottle of hand lotion that you most likely mistook for soap, and a towel on the stove top serving as your "drying rack." I notice a dishwasher but you tell me it's broken and upon further inspection, I can see a deflated beach ball wedged inside. Fair enough.

At least this problem is easily resolved: I'll pick up a new sponge (or twelve) and a big ass bottle of Palmolive and teach you some moves from the Mary Poppins playbook. We all know how much you love Disney.

But first things first, let's start with a fresh beer. Just the can is fine. Thanks, doll.

2 Comments

Listen Up: Shmitten Kitten's Crucial Hang Is Tonight!

I've come to terms with the fact that I will probably never curate a Biennial at the Whitney. However, if you gave me $5, I could pick some pretty perfect songs on a jukebox. And, that's what our night Crucial Hang is all about; playing perfect jukebox songs.

I'll be there with Roland Cassard, Diamond Dealer, the hot dude I always deejay with. How hot is he? Well, he looks like Jarvis Cocker but with better dance moves. Haha. He's totally gonna kill me for saying that. No, he won't kill me because he's a lover, not a fighter. If anything he'll probably high-five me. That's just how he rolls.

It all starts at 10pm at Tritone, which is located on 1508 South St. And, it's free. Click on Elvis' adorable face to see the Facebook page if you're into that sort of thing.

As an aside, HOW CUTE IS ELVIS IN THAT PICTURE? Could you imagine what his neck smells like? I'll bet he smells like laundry, grass and sweat, but in a good way.

Where was I? Oh, right. See you tonight!

ps: I'm also deejaying this Saturday, March 20th at Grasshopper.

pps: We're having our Spring Fling on Saturday, March 27th Upstairs at the Khyber. Get ready for it.

0 Comments

Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Toothbrushes Galore!

I will put up with a lot of shit in a guy's house--scratchy Ikea sheets, lumpy comforters that don't even keep me warm, one-ply TP--but, I can overlook a lot of these things if he offers me a new toothbrush like it ain't no thang. 

It doesn't need to be fancy. It doesn't need to spin around or have special comfort grips; just any old toothbrush is cool. Soft bristles are preferred, but I'm not gonna argue about that. A clean, new toothbrush is great any way you slice it.  

Here's the thing: I'm not always prepared to spend the night. Maybe I didn't want to assume anything was gonna happen, maybe my purse was small and I didn't want to pack a bunch of toiletries that may or may not be used. You know?

So, when he has a new toothbrush for me, I appreciate the gesture. And for the three seconds when I'm opening up the packaging, I'm thinking about how happy I am that I met such a radical guy. The other bonus part is that it's not weird that I have a toothbrush at his place. He gave it to me! I don't have to try and sneak it in, hoping that he doesn't get weirded out that our 'brushes are co-mingling before we're officially offical.

Personally, I think it's classy when guys have new toothbrushes on hand to give out. It's like when you get a free pack of cards on a flight; you'd be okay without them, but that little touch makes you enjoy your time with them that much more. I'm rubbing my eyes: Is this JetBlue or his crummy bathroom? I couldn't tell for a minute because he was giving me complimentary gifts just for showing up!

Guys, go to the dollar store and stash a handful of cheap toothbrushes somewhere. I'm telling you, girls will be thrilled about it. Trusssssst me on this.

9 Comments

Bonerkiller: Guys Who Make Me Listen To The Song "Mysterious Ways" In Its Entirety Against My Will

As soon as I hear those chunky chords at the song's opening, I feel like I'm gonna hurl. It's a viceral reaction to the toxic stew of Bono's breathy vocals and the Edge's overly funky guitar. This song feels like I'm at Burning Man or something. I should've never even told you about it because now it's your favorite way to torture me.

"Turn it off." I crossed my arms.

"What, did you say TURN IT UP?" You smiled as you inched the knob to the right, kicking it up a few notches. You seemed to delight in watching my face tense up.

I plugged my ears with my fingers in defiance. I narrowed my eyes. "I'm gonna kill him." I thought. "I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"It's alright, it's alright/ She moves in mysterious ways," you sang about three inches from my face. "Come on, babe. Sing along." Then, you moved your hands in a wobbly, psychedelic shape.

At first, I tried to laugh it off. "Haha! You really got me there! Now, turn it off or I'm gonna puke. I'm not even kidding."

Buoyed with finding my Achilles heel in the U2 cannon, you now try to sneak it in everywhere we go. You downloaded it to your iPod for this expressed purpose. You'll play it in the car when we're going to Trader Joe's or when we're cooking dinner in your kitchen and it will take all of my willpower to not stab you in the throat with a salad tong. The worst is when you blast it when I'm in the shower and I can't reach the stereo. I'm soapy, naked, and aggravated and you're holding your sides, laughing your ass off.

If we're not near a stereo, you'll lean in to kiss my neck but then just start singing, "If you wanna kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel. On your knees, boy!" Alright, that kinda cracks up, but I can't laugh because I don't want to encourage you.

All I want out of life is to live in a "Mysterious Ways"-free universe. Is that too much to ask? Sometimes, I think it is.

5 Comments

Pics and Vids: I'm So Excited

FINALLY, the Pointer Sisters / Saved by the Bell mash-up that we've all been waiting for. Not gonna lie; watching this just put me in the best mood.




via @platypusjones

2 Comments

Reader Submitted Quick Rant: Answer Your Damn Phone, Woman!

From our reader Jai, who is fed up with girls using our phones like total dickheads (those are my words, not his):

I appreciate new technology as much as the next guy, but for heaven's sake, answer your phone! We’ve been texting back and forth constantly to occupy our boring work days. A few weeks go on and we continually make plans via text to see each other in a non-digital /more than 160 characters realm.

So the day comes for our hangout, a weekend afternoon; perfect. You think that'd be simple enough? Oh, we haven't even gotten started. Buckle up because figuring out what you want to do is going to be a drawn out into a three hour conversation. That's a minimum! Here is the way the conversation goes:

“What would you want to do?”

“How about the park, it’s a beautiful day. We can people watch.”

“Nah, I’m not in the mood to sit around and stare at people.”

“Okay, how about getting some dinner and drinks?”

“After last night, alcohol is not friendly.”

“What did you have in mind for the afternoon?”

“I don’t know, something fun with you.”

That's the jist. At this point, I’ve had enough. This more than two hour texversation is bringing me to wit's end. So after your last message, I decided to call you. Guess what, you don’t answer and it goes to voicemail. I left a message. Three minutes later, you wrote me a text answering my voicemail. FINE! I'll continue to help your crackberry addiction.

I know there are situations where you may have been busy for those three minutes I tried to call. But we both know you weren’t. I have tried this calling feature on my phone with you a few times and it always seems to fail. Hmmm. Maybe you’re hoarding your free minutes for that phone call to American Idol. Oh, you can do that with text too!

Is it really that hard to call and have a five minute conversation to make a plan so I can SEE YOU, like you wanted? Why must we constantly go through this dance? I don’t want to be in the corner texting away. Don’t put me in that corner!

I'm happy to report that this is something that I never do. In fact, I'd always prefer a phone call to make plans over text unless I know the person really well. I guess I'm just old-fashioned that way. Actually, I'm so old fashioned, that I'd prefer the ol' carrier pigeon to texting. I mean, can a cell phone wear a little helmet and goggles? I didn't think so.

5 Comments

What Would Cher Do?

Um, she'd shop til she dropped, obviously.

On that note, my homegirl Alexis and I are going to play some music at Grasshopper, a supercute store in Center City on Saturday, March 20th from 11am - 7pm.

Good news: I just looked at the forecast for Saturday and it calls for AMAZING DEALS AND STEALS because everything in the store is 25% off the entire day. You can pick your jaw up off the floor now.

Stop by, say hi, and check their stuff out. Click on the flier to peep the Facebook page.

As always, you can check our events page to see what fun things we have planned. And, let me tell you, as the temperature heats up, so do our plans. It's like we're finally emerging from the winter doldrums and diving headfirst into Corona-and-tank-top town. And, for the record, it's really fun there. Trust us.

1 comments

Real Talk: Making The Shoebox Cut

Making it into the "shoebox stage" of a relationship is a pretty big deal. This is when we start to save little things reminiscent of our outtings together. It's when we start caring enough to want to be reminded of all those sweet things at a later time. I've had shoeboxes filled with all sorts of things: mini-golf score sheets, movie/concert/Phillies ticket stubs, photo-booth photos, ice cream sundae receipts, beer coasters, basically anything that I find in my purse at the end of the night that relates to our date.

We've mentioned that if you hand-write your number it has a pretty good chance of landing in the shoebox, or at least we'll smile at your effort before throwing it away. Guys will never see this shoebox 'cause its hidden in the back of a closet and harder to get to than One-Eyed Willy's treasure, but you can be pretty sure that the shoebox exists. It's like a relationship diary in scraps and trash instead of actual words.

The best thing about having a shoebox of memories, is that if it doesn't work out, you get to destroy all those things ala Tai trying to ditch her "Rollin' With the Homies" cassette in Cher's fireplace. Seriously, for those of you who never saved scraps of relationship shit, you should try it. Then let us know how cool it feels to burn that shit up or dump it in the ocean later. Trust us, it feels awesome.

What's the weirdest thing you've ever shoeboxed from a significant other? And what's the best way to destroy it? Get at us in the comments.

11 Comments

Reader Submitted: I Love Love Love Nerds Who Use Power Tools

From our lovely reader Liz:

I'd take the guy with basement full of obscure RPGs over the guy in steel-toed work boots any day, but when my nerd whips out a power drill and expertly hangs a shelf, it drives me wild.

Of course I'm perfectly capable of doing these things myself, but why on Earth would I even touch a power tool when the sight of him with a mechanical pencil and a dry wall anchor is enough make me go all train conductor and shout “All aboard!” in his general direction?

Seriously. I am this close to buying him a basement full of power tools. I love that he's a nerdy and completely adorable combination of Joseph Gordon-Levitt and a teenage Anthony Michael Hall. And, when he talks about all the things he can do with a Dremel, he's a fucking handyman hero, like if Han Solo and Norm Abram could somehow spawn. Hold me; I think I'm going to faint.

Somebody get this girl a cold shower! What makes your heart go thump thump thump? Let us know at hi@shmittenkitten.com.

2 Comments

I Love Love Love: Exchanging Phone Numbers On Pieces Of Papers

Hey, I'm thrilled anytime a guy wants my number*, but watching him type my name in his phone is routine at this point. It doesn't feel special when I'm just a notch on his Nokia belt. 

However--and this might be phase two of my fetishization of all things outdated--I love it when a guy takes the time to write his phone number down on a piece of paper and hands it to me. It's rad to empty my pockets at the end of the night and see his number folded up amongst my loose change and gum wrappers.

And, it's fun to see his handwriting, even if it looks like he wrote his name whilst hiccuping on a trampoline. If it works out between us, then I'll tuck the piece of paper away in my shoebox of memories, where I keep all the rad things that guys have sent me/ mailed me/ made for me over the years. Yup, that slip of paper has the potential to make the shoebox cut; a sweet relic of our early courtship. 

I'm getting all glowy just thinking about it.


*To clarify, I'm only thrilled when attractive and available guys do this.

3 Comments

I Love Love Love: When Guys Let Me Wield The Remote Control

This is probably one of the coolest things a guy can do for free: just let me command the remote control while we watch TV together. It's even more radical when he doesn't care what we watch and defers to me and my occasional low-brow tastes. It's a small gesture, but if you've ever watched TV with a control freak, you'll appreciate it when a guy just backs the fuck off and lets you channel surf.

At first, I test him a bit. I watch his face as I hover on a recent episode of Tool Academy. There's no reaction. Shit, he doesn't even care if I watch crappy VH-1 reality shows! I think I've struck jackpot as far as TV watching companions go. After a few minutes, I switch to Millionaire Matchmaker. He just laughed at one of Patti's jokes! This is magical.

So, guys that just hang out and let me take the TV lead, thank you. It's amazing. After years of prissy TV show naysayer wardens, having a guy chill the fuck out and watch a mini-marathon of Throwdown with Bobby Flay with me is like getting a foot massage without anyone touching my feet.

2 Comments

Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Fresh Milk For My Coffee

I take my coffee like how I take my men: sweet and weak. However, usually when a guy makes me coffee at his house, it only comes in one flavor: rocket-fuel exhaust. It's thick, strong, and bitter; yuck!

When I ask for a little bit of milk, he usually apologizes then looks down bashfully. "Sorry, babe. No milk. Is it cool if you just take it black?" I try to choke it down, but I usually toss it down the drain as soon as he turns his back.

However, once in a blue moon, he'll be like, "Yeah, here you go," and he'll produce some fresh milk from the fridge. Fuck yeah! Now we're talkin' here. It's such a small thing, but his milk-preparedness definitely makes me wanna come back. And, that just makes me glad.

6 Comments

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Fucking Bike In His Fucking Hallway

I get that he rides a bike. Fine. That's great. However, I can't stand how this bike is always in my face as soon as I step through his door. It's the worst because his hallways are super narrow and passing by this bike feels like I'm in a Japanese subway car during rush hour. I gotta make sure my valuables are secured because I feel like the bike is trying to pickpocket me as I walk to the living room!

Without fail, the handlebars--or, as I like to call them, the ovary-impalers--jab at me as I squeeze by. The pedals stab at my shins like a midget ninja. I hate it! Fuck his fucking bike in his fucking hallway. 

I know there's no where else to stash it because we live in a city and it'd probably get stolen in about half a minute if he locked it to a tree outside, but it doesn't mean that I should have to endure this pat-down courtesy of his ten-speed. And, that just makes me sad.

16 Comments

I Love Love Love: Guys In Joey Jeremiah Hats

This is probably one of my favorite looks on a dude: a jaunty hat ala my favorite Degrassi alum. It's so casual, so cuddly, I just wanna scoop him up and squeeze him. Wait! I might knock the hat off trying to squeeze him; it might be best to just admire him from afar, like a wild animal or a work of art.

I've been known to wander into oncoming traffic because I've been blinded by the hotness of this look. This hat is like if Tequila were a garment: it blurs my judgment. I've hooked up with terrible dudes just because I thought their hat was cute.

Can you blame me, though? Look at him over there! I wanna cook him spaghetti and kiss his earlobes. 

0 Comments

Listen Up: Shmitten Kitten's Crucial Hang

Hey guys! I'm gonna deejay with my homeboy, Roland Cassard, Diamond Dealer on Thursday, March 18th at Tritone. We'll go from 10pm until they kick us out. And, it's free!

We're calling it a Crucial Hang because you can bring your friends, sit around and have some drinks. It'll be chill.

For those of you who have attended our dance parties at the Khyber, Mr. Cassard is the hot dude with the glasses who's deejayed the Brit-pop sets. He should really change his name to LL Cool C because ladies love cool Cassard. Haha! 

I'm gonna play Motown and '60s rock 'n' roll. He's gonna play whatever he feels like. Basically, our goal is to hang out and play the perfect jukebox soundtrack. Please come and hang out. It should be radical.

3 Comments

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Dirty Laundry Heap

I would rather watch the depressing ad about abused animals with the Sarah McLaughlin music playing in the background on repeat than look at his dirty laundry heap chillin' in the middle of the room. Are hampers that hard to come by in these parts? It's like an X-file in there!

I cannot believe that you invited me back to your place knowing that this was plopped in the center of your bedroom. It's like if Pizza the Hut was made out of t-shirts and boxer shorts instead of pizza. And, it's repulsive. It's might even be alive; I'm not entirely sure and I'm too afraid to investigate.

I'm trying not to stare at it because who knows what terrible, evil things lurk inside. I even cupped my hands over my eyes and averted my gaze when you joked, "And, this is where the magic happens!" when we entered your room. The only magic you did was to make my interest disappear. And, that just makes me sad.

8 Comments

Pics and Vids: Here We Are Now, Entertain Us

NOW WE'RE TALKIN'! An ice skating routine set to "Smells Like Teen Spirit?" Yes, consider me entertained, if by entertained you mean completely transfixed by this bandanna brandishing, ice-devouring grunge tornado. I'll bet he throws the best parties ever, with like lions and mimes and washed up Hollywood hasbeens and midgets serving coke on trays and shit. You know, real pizza-on-the-turntable David Lynch-esque freak scenes.

I love every single thing about this clip. It's like a mosh pit on ice! Just watch.




ps - I'll bet you ten bucks that he probably keeps his socks on while he's doing it. Ewwwwww!
pps - He kind of looks like Mallory's boyfriend on Family Ties, Nick, right?
 
via tofuttibreak

5 Comments

Tip Our Hats: Squirrely Dudes

Put me in a room of guys and you can bet your bottom dollar that I would make a bee line straight to the most socially inept of the bunch. In high school, some girls would sweat the class clown, some girls would crush out on the jock flexing his biceps, and some girls would geek out about the aloof, tortured musicians.

Not me. I'd fall for the quiet weirdo writing poems in his notebook in the back of the classroom. He wouldn't even know how handsome he was, which just added to his appeal.

This is the guy that no girl would even notice. He probably wouldn't know what to do if they did. That doesn't faze me because I love squirrely guys. I speak their language. I'm like the Squirrel Whisperer. I can pull them out of their shell and transform them from a fidgety misanthrope into a fidgety regular-thrope.

So, squirrely dudes, I tip my hat to you. The way you freeze up when I say hello makes it sweeter when you warm up and ask for my phone number when I say goodbye.

7 Comments

Dear Shmitten Kitten: A Question About Your Question

This wasn't submitted as a Dear SK question, but it was a comment left in the previous post. Basically this person thought I was retarded for even asking a guy what kind of girl he usually dates. Instead of answering her comment there, I decided to make a new post about it because I thought it was a good question that deserved an answer. Here's what she said:

Dear Shmitten Kitten, 

I gotta tell you, it's a bad, bad question on so many levels. It's a set-up. Learn some better dating skills and ask better questions!

What difference does it make what kind of girls he "normally dates"? It has nothing to do with you and your date with him. Who cares about the others? Don't you want him to think about YOU? Why are you prompting him to think about the other girls and compare them to you??? Leave them out of your dates!

Here's some advice from a happily married woman who happily dated tons of guys before deciding it was time to be with just one:

1. The better the question, the better the answer!

2. On dates I let the guy focus on me, on him, and us, and our time together. I didn't solicit thoughts about other women on our dates. Two people on one date is enough thankyouverymuch. Why would you ask a guy to think about other women when he's on a date with you? 

As an aside, I don't ask every date this question. I usually only broach it when there's been a lull in conversation and I can't think of anything else to ask. However, I have to disagree with you here. I can glean a lot about his response:

1. If he likes me, he will answer without hesitation, "I love tall, busty, smart brunettes." Guess what? I'M A TALL, BUSTY, SMART BRUNETTE! If he says this, I will slide my chair closer to his and will smile both inside and out that I'm someone that he could see himself with. It's awesome because he's let me know that I'm his type, he feels comfortable with me and that I have a shot with him. Well played, fella.

2. He will let me know that I'm not usually the kind of girl he dates. He will answer, "I go for all kinds of girls." He didn't use his answer to reassure me that I'm his type so it tips me off that maybe I should be on guard with him a little. Whatever.

3. He will tell me he likes crazy girls. I KNEW something was off about him, and this answer confirms that I'd be wasting my time if I tried to take it further. Do not pass go, do not collect my $200.

4. He will tell me, "I usually go for short, mousy blondes." Guess what, I'm not a short, mousy blonde! You know this because you read my first point. This guy probably won't be prepared for all the attention we'll get by going out. I'm a tall girl with big boobs; people tend to stare sometimes. Not every guy can hang with that. 

See what I mean? There's a lot of information I get from his answer. I'm not asking for the names and addresses of his last 20 hookups, I'm just trying to get a sense where his head is at. Sheesh. What do you guys think?

11 Comments

Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "I Don't Like Labels"

You've introduced me as every combination of words in the English language except for that of "girl" and "friend." For instance:

"This is Lora."
"You just have to meet Lora."
"I'm so glad you finally get to meet Lora!"
And my personal favorite: "This is my very special lady friend, Lora."

What gives? We've been dating for months, hang out everyday, and I have even met your parents. I don't think it's a big deal to introduce me as your girlfriend. Your reply to that: "I just don't like labels."

Ok. Speaking of labels, I'd like to go ahead and label that phrase as one that I want to stab in the fucking face. It's not like I'm literally slapping a bumper sticker on your forehead. I'm not asking you to parade through the Piazza with a megaphone announcing that I'm your girlfriend. I just want to know where I stand for my own personal knowledge and contentment. Is that so terrible?

Labels are useful. For instance, labels help me maintain a gluten-free diet while shopping at Trader Joe's. And in this case, a label would let me know if it was cool or not to give my digits to that random hot bartender I met last weekend.

Your argument is that if you treat me like your girlfriend, then what does it matter if you call me your girlfriend? Actions speak louder than words, you say. I agree: The action of refusing to call me your girlfriend says, "I don't want to label you my girlfriend so that I can be free to makeout with other girls without feeling guilty."

How's this for a label: Fuck Off. I want to stab your anti-label sentiment phrases in the face.

1 comments

Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "I Like Crazy Girls"

"So, what kind of girls do you normally date?" I asked as I swirled my drink around with a red straw.

He smiled and leaned in, like he was about to tell me a secret. "I gotta be honest with you: I like crazy girls." He stopped to gauge my reaction. I don't have one. I blinked. Is this guy for real? He kept going.

"You know, the ones that are a bit unstable, like they might threaten to stab you with a pair of rusty scissors when you don't answer their texts or some shit." That description was a little too specific which makes me think that he actually dated a girl who did that. And, he was into it!

"What can I say? It keeps things interesting, ya know?" He grinned and shrugged his shoulders like the whole thing was out of his control.

Newsflash: I am not the kind of girl to do that. At all. Ever. Frankly, I'm more of a Girl Continued than a Girl Interrupted. I guess that's a bad thing in his eyes? Should I try and pretend that I'm crazy? Should I scrawl conspiracy theories in blood on his bathroom wall? Should I cover my windows in tin foil? Should I re-enact scenes from the song "Stan" by Eminem? Hmmmm. This all sounds like a lot of work.

Only me, only in this bar, only in this UNIVERSE do I get to date men who view my relative emotional stability as a negative. Where do these guys come from? Can we vote them out of town and toss them back from whence they came?

11 Comments

Reader Submitted Bonerkiller: His Preventative Hair Loss Shampoo

We swear, we're like the David Hasselhoff of dating blogs because German readers seem to love us. With that said, this is submitted from our German reader, Rebecca. Yes, this is from Germany. HOW COOL IS THAT?

I'm at your place to cook dinner with you and we're having a great time. You are doing great: you know enough about cooking to not look like a totally helpless dude, yet you show the right amount of appreciation for my awesome cooking skills and slip in some self-confidence boosting, "Wow, that's how you do it?" comments. Awesome. The wine's good too, but after a while I have to hit the restroom. 

Yikes. There it is, staring at me from the shelf over your bathroom sink: your Alpecin Shampoo. Yes, I have noticed your somewhat regressing hair line, but it's not too bad and you have a lot of other cute things going on for you. But this shampoo if forcing me to confront the top of your head.

Ok, I also use some products that are supposed to compensate for my shortcomings, but that shampoo on your shelf is a total turn-off. I feel sorry for your genetic disadvantage and I even feel bad for feeling bad about this. Unfortunately, I can't help it. Every time I look at you now I have to look at your hair (or what's left of it). Even though you're smiling at me and look really cute now, behind that smile your shampoo is staring at me. It says, "Just wait a bit and he's gonna look ten years older." And, there's an image floating around, too, where your pretty smile is surrounded by a monk-like tonsure. Yuck. 

So I'm not sure if there will be a next time that I will come over. But if there is, please do me a favor and give your shampoo a hiding spot in some random cupboard. I promise I won't look for it!

She totally went there! Ha! We love it!

6 Comments

Real Talk: I'm Disappointed That You Don't Drunk Text Me More Often

What, no flurry of texts at last call pouring your heart out to me? No grotesquely spelled love confessions that look like you typed it out with your knuckles, blindfolded in the back of a tractor? WHAT GIVES? Am I not drunk text worthy? Aren't I in your thoughts circa 2:07am?

Honestly, I'd appreciate it if you drunk texted me more. I'd like to wake up to your slurred emotions. In fact, to paraphrase Folgers, the best part of waking up is a sweet drunk text from the dude you like. 

But, I gotta say, you and your responsible lifestyle are getting in the way here. You are depriving me of this pleasure! Stop holding your cards so close to your chest: slam some tequila shots with your homies and let those emotions fly (right into my inbox). Text yourself before you wreck yourself. Or, rather, text me while you're wrecked. Don't worry, I'll think it's cute.

6 Comments

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Low Beds

If I roll over and am eye-level with your shoes, it's a problem. I hate this low bed. It's useless! I am not a fan of kneeling down to go to sleep. I like a normal bed at least a few feet off the ground. That's just me. If you can't stash a plastic bin from the Container Store under your bed, it's too low!

I'm not sure if you have something against box springs or have a fear of heights or what, but this low bed is bumming me out. It's unpleasant to wake up to your dog licking me in the face like I'm a bowl of kibble. I'm lower than your dog; it's weird! Your dog is laughing at us. 

It's like we're camping but without s'mores and without the knowledge that when we're done camping, we're gonna get to sleep in a nice, comfy bed. And, that just makes me sad.

7 Comments

Bonerkiller: Watching A Guy Who Never Jumps Try To Jump

As Third Eye Blind pleaded, I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend. Cut ties with all the lies that you've been living in! You know why? Because you look like an asshole when you try to jump over anything.

Face it: Your body is not programmed to jump. In the animal kingdom, you would definitely be classified as a flightless bird. Not to be a Debbie Downer here, but guys with beer bellies and asthma don't compete in high jump competitions for a reason.

This is embarrassing. It's like your feet are two cinder blocks and you're trying to will them over that curb. Your fists are clenched and your eyes are shut tight like you're trying to coerce your body to move in a way it never could. Your legs are clearly not used to jumping. They seem as pumped about this stunt as I am i.e. not at all.

It's not gonna work! I feel like a NASA protester in the '60s: You belong on the ground. Just be happy with that, Icarus. Oh lord. I can't even watch.

8 Comments

Story Time Update: Your Worst Date In Six Words

Last week, I asked you guys to share your worst date with us in six words. Honestly, I was blown away by your submissions. Some were downright hysterical. Here are a few of my favorites:

Suggested Hard Rock Cafe for drinks.
Made me sit in the backseat.
Light washed jeans, leather braided belt.
Fucked up teeth. Online pictures lied.
Only had five bucks on him.
Yin yang necklace. Serious about it.
Burped in middle of kissing. Gross.
Admitted he fantasized about his mom.
Tried to eat Buffalo wings seductively.

I gotta say, reading about your horrible dates is an instant pick me up. Whenever I'm feeling down, I just peruse this list. Well done, gang!

24 Comments

Real Talk: I Only Dated You Because You Looked Like My Ex

This is a weird thing for me to admit, but I've dated a string of guys all because they've looked like my ex. It started to get kinda Synecdoche, New York a little bit: I kept re-casting these types of people in the same roles.

First, this one dude broke my heart. So, when I met a guy who looked like his doppelganger, I jumped at the chance to date him.  We went out for a while until he broke my heart too! FUCK!

So, what did I do? I went out with a third guy who was basically a third generation version of the first one. I was zipping through these dudes like iPods. It started to get a bit weird and I was terrified of running into the last guy with my new guy cause it'd be like some kind of Parent Trap sitch where they'd look like long lost twins so I had to cool it with that particular make and model of dude.

Am I the only one that does this? Have any of you guys every dated someone just because they looked like your ex? Let me know in the comments.

12 Comments

Bonerkiller: Guys Who Are Fussy About Subtitled Movies

Guys who are fussy about subtitles are the worst. It doesn't matter how critically-acclaimed the film is, they'll crinkle their nose at the suggestion once they find out that they have to read whilst viewing.

They get all aggravated like it will personally affect them in some crucial capacity. It's not like you have to pay more money to read 'em; subtitled movies are the same price as Paul Blart: Mall Cop. They'll even bristle at watching Y Tu Mamá También and that has a hot chick in it! What the hell?

I also can't stand when guys bust my chops about watching TV shows with the subtitles on. Call me crazy, but I like to know what is happening on-screen. As a head's up, if it's a British show, I'm gonna need 'em. That's a given.

And, mock me if you must, but subtitles were essential to my Wire viewing experience. Snoop has a crazy thick accent and I'll be honest, I couldn't always understand what Omar and Bubbles were talking about. Subtitles saved the day on that one.

Seriously subtitle haters, hit the road!

9 Comments

Pics and Vids: Unicorn, I Appreciate Your Honesty

 

via Isitallovermyface

0 Comments

Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "I'm Around!"

"We should totally hang out sometime."
"Cool. I'd like that," I smiled.
"Well, I'm around. You know. Like, around." Nervous laughter. "So, yeah. We'll talk soon!"

Um, do you wanna hang out? No, wait. You don't. I think. Or maybe you do? Maybe you don't. I'm perplexed!

When a guy tells me that he's "around," I assume it means that he doesn't want to hang out. It seems like a squirelly, non-committed reply, right? He came over to hug me. We chatted for at least half of a beer. He brought up the part about us hanging out so why would he end on that nebulous note?

Where is this mythical place of "around"? Is it on the Internet, tucked away on a chat list? Is it in line at CVS when I'm buying deeply discounted Valentine's day candy? Is it on the bar stool next to me when I'm out with another guy on a date? These seem to be the only times when I run into you and they aren't the same thing as scorin' some solo time. 

I can't believe I'm spending this much energy trying to decipher your signals. Fuck it.

*pounds the rest of the beer, slams pint glass on the bar, then wipes mouth with the back of my sleeve*

14 Comments

Reader Submitted Bonerkiller: He Was Waaaaay Too Eager

From our reader, Jessica, who experienced this madness first-hand. Take it away, kiddo:

Everybody likes attention, I know I do. But there is definitely such a thing as too much too soon. Things started out okay; I got his friend request on Facebook, and even though I don't know him, I accepted it because he was kind of attractive. And, what's this? We work together? That's very interesting, I can't believe I'd never seen him before.

Oh my gosh, we had so many similar interests! He's seen Gogol Bordello live? He smokes a ton of weed? Me too! This is so refreshing because I feel like nobody else from work gets me. I'm starting to envision a friendship between us; the kind of friendship where we both want more. Maybe we can spend our lunch breaks together and it'll be just like we're Jim and Pam before they became boring and unlikable.

But, then he started texting me. How did he get my phone number? Oh, he just found it on my Facebook profile. Well, I guess that's okay. I mean, I did put it out there for everyone. He seriously texted me nonstop for an hour.

This is starting to feel like an interview. Why is he asking me about my sexual history and religious views? Can't we just stick to neutral subjects, like books and movies? The text he just sent me was three messages long. I replied with a single word. HOW DOES HE NOT GET IT?! "What is my philosophy on love?" Wow. Back off, man!

Okay. I'm going to try to ignore him for a while. I didn't look at my phone for the next three hours. FIVE NEW TEXTS AND A MISSED CALL?! Dude, this is Day One of our interactions! You just added me on Facebook this morning!

"r u mad at me or something?" Ignore. Awesome. You haven't texted me for an hour. I guess I'm in the clear. Time for me to smoke a bowl and get some sleep.

You, at 10:36 am: "goodmorning sunshine :)"

Me: "Isn't it a bit premature for good morning texts? You seriously need to cool it down."

You: "lmao"

You are obviously not my Jim. You ruined that fantasy before it had the chance to start. I guess I should thank you though, I mean at least I didn't have to meet you in person to figure it out.

I'm not really sure why guys do this. Maybe it's some caveman instinct where they're trying to toss an animal hide over your head and forcibly try to drag you back to their cave as their new possession?

This happened to me once except I met him at a party and after exchanging numbers, he texted me non-stop for almost two days. He didn't even have any new information to share with me; he'd just bombard me with irritating, pointless observations about his day. I ended up lying and telling him that I had boyfriend just to stop the insanity. Wanna share a story with us? Send it to hi@shmittenkitten.com. Let's get our Susan Powter on.

11 Comments