Pics and Vids: And People Say That There Aren't Any Good Guys Left In Philly

via

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I'm Gonna Be Honest Here: I Don't Remember What You Look Like

As I'm watiting for you to arrive to our first date, I gotta be honest, I have no idea what you look like. First, let's start with the things that I DO remember:

• Meeting you last weekend. 
• Dirty dancing with you on stage behind a speaker (yikes!)
• Exchanging numbers and promising that we'd hang out soon

Here's what I remember about you:

• You had dark hair
• You were wearing a t-shirt
• You definitely were wearing shoes
• Oh, and you had eyebrows

THAT'S IT! That's the composite I'm working with.

I was pretty surprised that you called in the first place. For some reason, I agreed to meet you here before it dawned on me that the only thing I know about you is that you are a male under 40. I have a feeling that you were cute, but I really can't explain why that feeling is there. For what it's worth, your voice sounded hot on the phone.

As every guy files into the restaurant, I squint my eyes wondering if that's the one. What should I do? Go up and ask, "Are you my date because I don't remember any physical characters that he possesses?"

Wait, is that you? No, I think you were shorter. Honestly, I have no freakin' clue what you look like. *sips drink and looks around the restaurant*

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Pics and Vids: Call Me

I always just say, "Cheerio, my good man." I guess that means that I like to watch Masterpiece Theater? I don't know. What do you think? Any truth to this guide?

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Pressure Me To Do Shots

"Hey, let me buy you a shot. Whadda you want?"

"Ah, thanks. But, I'm good."

"Come on! Just have one shot with me." He motions for the bartender to come over to him. Then, he leans in and says, "Give this girl whatever shot she wants."

"No, really. I'm good. I really shouldn't. Thank you, though."

"Nah. Come on! What do you want? It's on me."

"Ok. Hmmm. Can I get a shot of Sauvignon Blanc? Actually, make it a triple shot. And, if you could just put it in a wineglass that'd be great."

Dudes, pressuring me to do shots is a nose crinkler. Not to get all James Van Der Beek from Varsity Blues on you, but I DON'T WANT YOUR SHOT! We're not in a hot tub in the back of a limo crusin' the Sunset Strip; We're in a mediocre bar on a Wednesday trying to get a slight buzz on.

It's well-lit in here and my friend has been complaining about her job to me for the past hour. This is not a Coyote Ugly outtake: We don't need tequila making an appearance at 7:47pm. Just be a normal dude and ask to buy me a full-sized normal drink. Is that so hard?

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This Is Happening: Shmitten Kitten Is Taking Over Dos Segundos

We're taking over Dos Segundos for a bangin' brunch. It's all going down on Saturday, May 8th from 12pm - 4pm. We'll have music spinnin', margs flowin', and nacho munchin'. Come! Click on the picture for the Facebook jawn.

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Bonerkiller: Guys That Wear Tank Tops

From our reader Amber, who says, "No tank you" to tank tops on guys. See what I did there? I turned the word "thank" and into "tank." Did you laugh? Come on! Not even just a little? Sheesh. Tough crowd. *tugs at collar*

This isn't even a post about wearing socks with flip flops!

So it’s Sunday. We slept in. We decide to have brunch with friends. We throw some clothes on, nothing fancy. You put on a white wifebeater. I wait for you to throw a t-shirt on over it, but apparently you have finished assembling your outfit.

Listen dude, you’re cute and all, but no guy is that cute. You’re not exactly the tanned, super muscular man that was modeling that tank top on the package from Target. And even if you were, it would still be embarrassing (your unfinished upper arm tattoos and farmer’s tan aren't helping your case either).

“But it’s comfortable, who cares?" you say. I care. How the hell am I supposed to walk around with the guy wearing the tank top. Your toxic combo of armpit hair and an unnecessary amount of skin showing is going to make a lot of people uncomfortable. There will be families where we’re going for Christ’s sake. No one needs to see that much man-shoulder.

If I wanted to spend the day with Kid Rock or one of the guys from Jersey Shore, I would have said so. I’m embarrassed that this is a normal shirt for you when I’m not around. For now, can you just put on something with sleeves so we can get on with our day.

Honestly, this has never happened to me, but I can understand where you're coming from. I have the opposite problem: I usually roll with guys who insist on wearing a shirt when they go to bed. Instead of catching Zs, we're bickering about him decked out in an old shirt he got at Warped Tour in 2003. FUCK THAT NOISE! Pop that shit off, homie.

We should get together and write a song about dudes in shirts. We'll call it "Shirt Shit."

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Mark Yer Calendars: Monday is Black Dynamite at the Troc!

Here it is again, in case you missed it. This is re-posted 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.

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

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Things I'm Terrible At: Turning Down My Bud Light Dude

From our reader, Tara, who really hates Bud Light. And crummy guys. But not necessarily guys that drink Bud Light. Interesting.

Now THIS was a true party animal

Here are my thoughts about Bud Light: I hate it. It tastes watery and unappealing. I have one bottle once a year when I go to like, a friend's sister's barbecue and it's all normals; the men mill around and gab about sports and the girls mill around and compare engagement rings.

That is when I'll have my annual Bud Light and that is when I'll take one sip, abandon it on a random picnic table and walk away because it tastes like shit.

THAT IS HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS DUDE. We hook up once a year and it's NEVER GOOD. He gets too drunk and falls asleep every time! I don't know why I keep coming back for more, much less agreeing to it. Is it out of boredom? Familiarity? The hope that maybe this will be the year that he learns how to make out like a pro? I don't know; maybe he bought a book on it? WHO KNOWS?

It's like why I keep watching Entourage: I wonder if it's gonna get better. But it hasn't. And, it won't because Vince is a bore, E is a high-strung munchkin and Turtle is a pussy.

 I don't have anything to add, but I appreciate the opportunity to run a pic of Spuds MacKenzie (RIP).

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Quick Rant: Please Don't Interrupt My Conversation

From our reader, Heather, who doesn't like to be interr--what's that over there?

Guys, this is Harry Potter's butt

So I'm sitting at a bar, having a beer and a heart-to-heart with my best girlfriend. I've noticed you, because you've been sitting directly behind my friend and staring at me conspicuously for the past thirty minutes. I've politely disregarded your passive-aggressive advances by refusing to maintain eye contact with you for more than a second, making it quite obvious that I am more interested in talking to my friend than flirting with you.

Therefore, I am not going to respond warmly when you suddenly interrupt my friend in the middle of her sentence with some stupid line like, "So, are you students?" and "What are you guys studying?"

If you had been studying--my body language, that is--or listening while you were staring at me like a sad, hungry puppy, you would have noticed that my friend and I were engaged in a meaningful and personal conversation. You may have also noticed that it mostly involved the subject of our current boyfriends, and how much we adore them.

In that case, we probably wouldn't have been interested in talking to you anyway. But, if you've learned anything from your mother, or your third-grade teacher, or even the friends that you came here with, it's just plain rude and inappropriate to butt into a conversation, unless you're planning on offering us another round of drinks, or dying to tell us how incredibly beautiful we are before you leave and go somewhere else. If you're not doing either of those things, then please, butt out.

This happens to me ALL THE TIME! I've learned to just say, "Excuse me, but I came here to talk with my friend. I'm not interested in talking with you. Sorry." Guys get SO FREAKED OUT when I call them out on it, but what can I say? I'm direct. It's funny to watch his face register that he's just been publicly shot down. Them's the breaks, buddy.

You can't see me, but I'm blowing at the tops of my fingertips like they're freshly fired guns. Now, I just pretended to put them in an imaginary holster at my hips. Now, I just winked. Now, I just said, "Mess with the best, die like the rest." Not out loud; in my head. I'm basically an imaginary cowboy that quotes Hackers. That sums it up.

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Little Known Fact: I Would LOVE To Fix Your Brows

We have a date tonight. Before I see you, I'm going to go through an entire routine to make sure every inch of me is in tip top shape. I'll enter my bedroom at 5:30pm looking like a treasure troll and emerge at 7:30pm looking like Gisele. I'll bronze, buff, wax, and lather myself silly just so I can see your eyes light up when you see me walk into the living room. And I'll blow the last shreds of my paycheck on a too-tight dress because I know you like it that way.

You, on the other hand, will jump into the shower at 7:20pm, decide your stubble is "dashing" at 7:23pm, and sniff your favorite shirt before tossing it on at 7:27pm. Then, you'll tap your toe impatiently at 7:29pm when I'm not ready yet.

It takes TIME to look this fine, my friend. You're always pleasantly surprised by the outcome, so slow your roll with the impatience. You're a dude; of course it takes you two shakes to be ready. But you know, there are things you can do to make yourself look even more fly. No, no, I love the old shirts and the 5 o'clock shadow. I'm talking about the homage to the Grinch on your forehead; those Uncle Sam brows need to go. And oddly enough, I would be tickled pink to do the honors.

As a girl, I take pride in my ability to beautify things. I will gladly hover uncomfortably close to your face, my tongue poking out of the corner of my mouth, as I handle those tweezers like a Jedi eyebrow master. Give me five minutes and VOILA, a work of art that is neither Groucho Marx nor Jersey Shore juicehead. You have the perfect man-brows now. You're welcome.

So don't be afraid to ask. And, don't go trying to fix them on your own. We all know what could go wrong there.

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Real Talk: I Don't Like Your Band

Okay, I love saying it: I'm dating the lead singer of a band. I feel like I should throw on a fur coat and a hippy dippy headband and jam to "Tiny Dancer" like it was written just for me. I want to watch you from the stage wings at every show and sing along to every song and smile back at you when you play my favorite one.

There's just one problem: I can't stand your music.

I don't know if it's the lyrics (they're incomprehensible) or the tunes (or lack thereof), but your band makes Nickelback sound like the freaking Rolling Stones. I realize singing your own songs is a way of expressing yourself, but before you told me who inspired this song, I thought it was about HOV lanes and possibly buying printer cartridges at Office Depot. This chicken scratch is inspired by me? It's like the musical equivalent of hieroglyphics except I have a better chance of decoding ancient Egyptian symbols than discerning what the hell you're screaming about in this song.

And your voice is so lovely when you're singing along to the Beatles in the car. Why does it sound like you're possessed by a muppet when you're on stage? I'm half-expecting to look up at the balcony and see two old dudes heckling you about this awful music. I hope that a giant hook pops out from backstage and pulls you off so Kermit can introduce the guy who throws boomerang fish. I'd watch that over your band any day of the week.

Also, what do you expect me to tell my family when they ask what's the name of your band? My grandma found your MySpace page and all week she's been asking at a LOUD VOLUME where you got the name "Hot Carl & the Rusty Trombones" from. I finally told her you changed your name to Radiohead. She was less curious about that one.

I thought dating the lead singer of a band would be glamorous but it's been torture. I'm not sure this is going to work out. Oh well, there are plenty of other muppets in the sea.

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I Love Love Love Guys Who Refrain From Adding Me As A Facebook Friend The Day After We Meet

No medal for Chewie? What the hell?

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for not adding me on Facebook the day after you met me. If I could give you a medal for your restraint, I totally would. It was a little touch-and-go there because you eagerly texted me after we exchanged numbers so I wasn't sure. But, you didn't add me, which was awesome!

I woke up the next day and peeked at my email through my fingers like I was watching a horror movie. I was like, "Eeeeek! I hope that cute guy I met last night didn't add me 'cause that'd be really weird." And, you didn't! Which was great. Totally great.

Obviously, I looked you up (and we have 13 friends in common. Yay for us!) And, I hope you looked me up too. But, you didn't do anything which is perfect. Two thumbs up. In fact, if not adding me the day after we met was a Facebook group, I'd "like" it! LOL.

So, yeah, keep that up. Wait a few weeks and see how you feel. Who knows? Maybe we can have a great online friendship and I hope we do. But, like Janet Jackson sang, "Let's wait a while." She was talking about friendship requests, right?

In conclusion, thank you for not adding me and I look forward to doing some light stalking of your profile and I hope you do the same for me. Okey doke.

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Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "I Gotta Use The Little Boys' Room"

From our reader, Liz, who gets a full body shudder when dudes say this to her:

It's a building that turns into a robot!

What is it with guys who use the phrase “little boys’ room” when referring the bathroom? Really? Are you going to play with LEGOs in there? Will you be having watergun fights and/or a Matchbox car race? Do you still wear Underoos, too?

Imagine if instead of politely excusing ourselves from the table saying that we “need to go freshen up,” we dropped them a little gem like, “Be back in a few. I've got to go take a poo poo. Don’t hold the appetizers; I’m gonna be gone a vewwy long time! Tee-hee.”

So, fellas, unless you have, ahem, little boy parts to go along with your little boy talk, please save the kiddie-speak for your Nana, who still thinks of you as her precious five-year-old. 

I can see why this would get on your nerves, but honestly, I think it's kinda cute when he says "little boys' room," But, I also think that spending my tax return money on comic books and candy is a reasonable thing to do so WHAT DO I KNOW?  

What do y'all think? Does this phrase make you cringe or not? Tell us in the comments.

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Pics and Vids: Zing!

via Ex Boyfriend Dead Letter Office

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Get Hip To This

If you aren't already:

• Sign up for the SK Newsletter
• Friend us on Facebook 
• Follow us on Twitter

And now, here's a funny image to thank you for considering all of the above things we just asked you to do:

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Great News: You Fucking NAILED Your First Date Outfit!

I don't know if you have a sister that's a stylist or a sassy gay best friend or what, but I gotta say that I'm FUCKING FLOORED with your first date outfit choice. A cardigan, cool sneakers, crisp jeans, A FREAKIN' NECKTIE! Oh lawdy. *mocks fanning myself*

You nailed a Triple Lindy of first date outfits. This is a perfect 10. Holy shit. I mean, I thought you were pretty cute when I met you last week, but I had NO FUCKIN' CLUE that you would whip this perfect outfit together. Did you go shopping? Were these clothes just chillin' in your closet? Were they on your floor? No! Don't tell me. It'll ruin it.

Fuck the Picasso exhibit at the Art Museum because your outfit is the real work of art in this town. AND fuck Subway and their sandwich artists because your outfit is the REAL ART here. You're an outfit artist. They should make a statue of you dressed just like this and put it in the park for all mortals to admire.

You know what? Fuck this low-key BYOB shit. I'm taking you out on the town, my dear. My friends have got to get a load of you.

Shhhhh! Don't say anything. Just let me look at you. Wow. This will work for me. I can really see us together. I SAID DON'T SPEAK! Just let me take it in.

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Real Talk: Your Keys Are Stupid

I don't know why you need so many keys. From what I can gather, you don't even do that much. You have a normal day job and live in an apartment; there's no need for it. 

Are you a prison warden? A janitor? It's not like you're working the morning shift at Disney World and you are personally responsible for turning on all the rides. I have no idea why you need roughly a million keys on your person at all times.

When I confronted you about it, you tried to explain them away by saying, "Well, this one is for my truck. This one is, um, for my parents' garage. This one right here is for my practice space I think. Yeah, I probably could get rid of a few. Whatever."

You swing 'em around like an impractical weapon then you plop them down on the table like a bible. It's weird. You're a key hoarder. Thin your key herd!

The one good thing about your key situation is that I can hear you walking up behind me, like a cowbell. At least invest in a funny keychain or something. Give 'em some personality. Then, they'd be funny and rotund, like Zack Galifinakis. Right now, they're just rotund and menacing like Dick Cheney. Fix it.

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Pics and Vids: When I Said That I Wanted To Meet A Smart, Funny Guy Who Doesn't Take Himself Too Seriously

I should've been more specific. I should've also added that he must not idealize magicians and/or Mr. Peanut.  

via Coyote Pact

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Pics and Vids: Adults Only

As a kid, I felt that becoming a sophisticated adult entitled me to the following perks:

• Ordering pu pu platters
• Wearing high heels
• Going to romantic weekend getaway destinations

However, I'm ashamed to admit that I don't do any of these things on my "sophisticated adult" list: I have yet to take full advantage of a Chinese appetizer sampler. A lone tear fell down my cheek when I typed that.

I didn't expect that I'd grow up to be 6'1, so the high heels thing isn't part of my wardrobe. Plus, I can't walk in 'em. That's out.

So, that leaves me with my third one. Growing up outside of Chicago, I'd see these ads on TV about this romantic wonderland called Sybaris. According to their extremely cheesy, low-tech ads, I could look forward to flower petals on beds, wearing robes, fireplaces, and MY OWN IN-ROOM WHIRLTUB! Where do I sign up for this? Look at this place:

The funny thing is that it didn't even register at all as a creepy thing. It just looked like so much fun to rent a pool suite! I imagined it'd be like we were riding in Vince Neil's limo cruising down the Sunset Strip, right? Break open the champagne.

In high school, I heard that a few friends were going to rent out some rooms at Sybaris after prom and it re-ignited my desire to go. I asked my boyfriend at the time if he'd be into it and he flatly rejected the idea. No rose petals? No luxurious robes? No in-room whirltub? Nope. None for me. He was never up for anything like that. I mean, he worked at a record store. Those guys aren't exactly known to kick up their heels. 

Am I alone in this? Did anyone else ever think that these places were the height of fun and romance? Did the lunatics on Blind Date kill this whirlpool-during-a-date idea? So many questions!

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Tonight: Get Happy Houred At Johnny Brenda's

Hey homies! Tonight is the night that I, aka Anna aka DJ Goy Toy will deejay happy hour at Johnny Brenda's. It's from 5pm-10pm and it will be insanely happy. Ecstatic, even.

Swing by and let's get this weekend started already.  

Look how happy he is! This could be you.

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: A Clackity Dell Desktop

Oh my god, I hate your computer. No one owns a Dell on purpose unless you're an NYU student in 1997. Just typing my username into Gmail feels like I'm playing a sticky instrument. Ewwww!

Does this piece of shit only run Internet Explorer? What, do you have a Yahoo! toolbar too? I feel like I'm at a temp job using this thing. I'm trying to check my email and I keep getting these flashing alerts about Norton being expired. I hate this!

This must have been a hand-me-down from an uncle or something. Maybe it was swiped off a curb after someone tossed it. There's no way that you walked into a store and willingly purchased this machine in the past five years. Tell me that you didn't willingly purchase this.

Don't give me that look. I'm not a computer snob, I swear. But, if the computer world was likened to transportation, using this computer feels like taking a Greyhound bus cross-county with no pee breaks allowed. It's just gross.

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I Feel I Failed To Impress You With My Semi-Obscure Karaoke Song Choices

I'll admit, it's not like I nailed R.E.M's "It's The End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine), but I still think it's pretty cool that I gave Glenn Danzing a run for his money with my flawless rendition of "Last Caress." I didn't even look at the monitor once!

When I high-fived you afterwards, you seemed confused like you didn't even know what you'd just heard or witnessed. Here's a clue: you just saw a girl singing one of the best songs ever and you clearly weren't impressed.

I don't even think you know who the Misfits are (which is a turn-off), because when I announced that'd I'd sing the song you shrugged. HELLO! You are on a date with the coolest girl in this whole wide room and I don't even think you properly appreciated it.

When I followed up with Roxy Music's "Love is the Drug," you seemed unimpressed as well. Clearly my karaoke song choices are too obscure for your tastes.

This is probably how American Idol contestants feel when they try and shake shit up by choosing a Killers song to sing. Fuck it. I should've just stuck to "Wake Me Up (Before You Go-Go)." That probably would've been better for all involved.

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Real Talk: Don't Let Foursquare One-Up Your Date

Unless you've been living under a rock with no Internet connection, the latest craze is the geo-location site, Foursquare. It's one part social media time-suck, one part nightlife guide, one part game, and eight parts material for anyone interested in real-life stalking you.

Foursquare rewards you for "checking in" to places you go on a daily basis. The coffee shop around the corner, the bar where you guzzle down PBRs every Friday night; it's all fair game. Your check-in earns you points, badges, and even a coveted mayorship if you check in more than anyone else. What does this mean in real life? Absolutely jack shit, which is why I have a sneaking suspicion you might see Foursquare joining the ranks of Friendster and MySpace in a few years.

In the meantime, everyone with an iPhone is playing and well, it's getting a little out of hand. It's not appropriate yet for you to shout "HEY! I'M THE MAYOR HERE!" as you saunter into your local taco joint. Hopefully it stays that way.

Since we're here to talk about dating, I thought I'd set some ground rules about Foursquare and dating. I haven't seen anyone talk about the two in conjunction, so I thought a few guidelines might help.

1. Never talk about Foursquare on the first date unless she is an uber-nerd. Even in this post, it took me a solid two paragraphs to give you the basics of Foursquare. I've tried this before and it always starts with this eyes-glazing-over thing and then she makes this face as if you're trying to explain the plot of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace. It never ends well. No matter how cool you think Foursquare is, there's no way to explain it in which you don't look like a total dork at the end. ABORT MISSION.
   
   
2. Don't let her see you check in. It's just rude. Believe me, as a former Foursquare addict, the first urge you get is to check in the moment you walk in the door or sit down. Wait for her to go to the bathroom or check in as you are walking up. Or don't do it at all. It totally leaves a bad impression. Your date is going to read you playing on your iPhone as total disinterest in the date, even though technically you're announcing it to the world. Which leads us to...
   
   
3. Be careful what you announce on Foursquare. Is this a first date? Were your friends giving you shit about asking this girl out? Think twice about telling the world where your date is taking place to eliminate the chance that one or two of your friends are nearby and try to crash it. Believe me, it happens.
   
4. Don't ever lie about where you are. Ever. You shouldn't be doing this anyway, but if you're dumb enough to try to date two girls at the same time, Foursquare is TOTALLY NOT FOR YOU. Alternatively, if you're trying to keep a new relationship on the D/L, and you're checking in together all over town, people are going to put two and two together. Criminals, secret keepers, and serial daters should probably just steer clear of this social media trend.
   
   
5. If it turns out she IS on Foursquare, give it some time before you follow her. So you had a successful first date AND she's on Foursquare? Awesome! Just give it a little time before you add her as a friend. Or better yet, let her do it. Becoming friends on Foursquare is sorta like saying, "Hey, I'm cool with you knowing roughly where I am most of the time" and frankly, most girls aren't down with that if they've just met you. So take it easy, and if she's cool with you, you'll get the friend request. Simmer down!
   
   
6. No Foursquare random run-ins. It doesn't matter if you're right across the street from where she just checked in, if you aren't SUPER TIGHT FRIENDS, you can't show up there and "bump into her." This is Hannibal Lecter-level creepiness and her stalker radar will be on full blast. Even though, in your head, this is a totally reasonable thing because bumping into friends while you're out and about is the main reason for Foursquare, none of this logic matters at all. You will be forever slightly creepy in her mind.

Foursquare users, date and check in with abandon. By following these simple rules, hopefully you can become the mayor of your very own hot date.

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Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "I Wanna Take You On A Real Date"

Much like how guys who say that they want to marry me on our first date rarely want to do it by our third date, guys who tell me that they want to take me on a real date, fail to follow through in any way, shape, or form. They might as well tell me that they want to take me to Narnia because they are both FANTASTICAL PLACES THAT I'LL NEVER GO TO.

So, what constitutes a real date to him? Pull up a chair. He'll say, "First, I'll pick you up at your house." *eyeroll*

"Then, I'll take you out for dinner. Maybe we'll split a milkshake with two straws like a Norman Rockwell painting," he laughs. "You'll love it." *yawn*

"Then, we'll go to a movie."  *double yawn*

"Then, we'll go out somewhere for a nice dessert." *zzzzzz*

This date will NEVER happen. It's like the unicorn of date promises; it doesn't exist. This magical date evaporates as soon as he articulates it.

Oh, he'll protest when I playfully say that it will never happen. He'll emphatically promise you that it will. He'll even take out the calendar on his cell phone and tell you exactly on which day this magical date will happen. Don't buy it! It won't. 

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Attention Weekend Warriors: Start This Weekend Off Right

It's gonna feel like this for your ears

I, aka Anna aka DJ Goy Toy, am deejaying happy hour at Johnny Brenda's this Friday, April 16. It's from 5pm-10pm which is a lot of hours to get happy and I intend to use all of them to the full legal limit.

I'm gonna take everyone on a magic journey through space and time as I dazzle you with obscure monk chants. Not really. I'll mostly play music that you probably already own and already know most of the words to the songs. Elvis Costello, Bob Dylan, Rolling Stones, Jawbreaker, Descendents, early Metallica, '60s soul; it's all gonna get played. It'll be a fantastic soundtrack to sip lagers to. 

I know we're all over replying to Facebook invites, but if you're gonna come let us know and if you have any requests, write 'em on the wall or leave 'em in the comments. Is it Friday yet?

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Quick Rant: I Hate The Police

Fuck these guys in the fucking face

Oh my god, I hate this band. I would rather listen to a book on tape about tax law reform than listen to the Police. Seriously, I would rather listen to a symphony of chili farts than listen to Sting screech about a prostitute named Roxanne. It's like nails on a chalkboard for me! Their whole pseudo-rasta vibe makes me retch.

I mean, look at them over there. They look like poncy hairdressers who take themselves way too seriously. They look like I just told them that I think that dolphins SHOULD be extinct. I'm kidding, guys. Relax. Dolphins are clearly our friends.

They probably wouldn't even laugh at any of my jokes. Fuck 'em. I'd crank up some Diamond Dave in a second over these irritating tossers.
 
I generally like guys who are Police fans, which is bit of a conundrum. I'll just turn the other way to his fandom, as long as he doesn't subject me to it. It's like having his back shaved; it's fine if he does it, but I don't wanna be in the room when it happens. 

As an aside, I worked at a record label in college and, as you can imagine, being the judgmental music nerds we were, we all had strong opinions about which bands were played over the office stereo. We worked out a system where everyone had a turn to pick a CD to play in an effort to be democratic. However, my boss was a total dick and insisted on the entire Police box set as his one pick. It was torture for me. I quit shortly thereafter. THE POLICE HAVE ADVERSELY AFFECTED MY WORK HISTORY! They're just the worst.

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Pick Up My Guitar And Do A Spontaneous Serenade

I ran to the kitchen to fix us some snacks and when I came back to my room, I found you sitting on the edge of my bed playing my guitar. I stood in the doorway for a second, watching you. You clearly have some chops.

At first, I smiled. "Wow, I didn't know you could play guitar. That's great." But, you didn't stop. You started singing.

And, that's when it got weird for me.

It was like John Mayer possessed your body or something. You closed your eyes and started hittin' some high notes. When you finally opened your peepers, I think you tried to make meaningful eye contact with me while you were singing.

I don't expect you to know this since it's only our third date, but I HATE when people look at me when they're singing. It makes me self-conscious: Should I return this meaningful gaze? Should I sway back and forth with a lighter in the air? Should I burst into tears like that little girl who met Sanjaya? You just turned my cozy bedroom into open mic night at the Peach Pit.
 
I feel like this is something you saw in a movie as a slick move to "seal the deal." Speaking of movies, I'd totally smash this guitar to put an end to this impromptu serenade like John Belushi did in Animal House except that it's my guitar and, yeah, I'm not gonna do that.

Honestly, I'd prefer it if you'd leave the singer/songwriter act for the buskers in the park. Just leaf through a magazine and wait for me to come back with another round of beers. Is that so hard?

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Hey, Jive Turkeys: Don't Forget

That this is happening:

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Reader Submitted Bonerkiller: Guys Who Won't Make The First Move

Here's a funny reader submission we received from Nila about guys who won't make like Nike and just do it:

C'mon fatso and just bust a move

It's the end of the date, and even though we had terrific, sexy banter, we haven't touched all night. He tells me that he had a really great time and he wants to see me again. And then he leans in... and hugs me. And it's Date #2.

Don't get me wrong: I'm a feminist and I believe in women taking control of their dating lives. But at a certain point, I want to be grabbed and kissed. I want him to reach for my hand, or put his arm around me, or even just lower his head to whisper something in my ear; something to make me feel like he's interested in taking it further. 

When he just sits there and I have to initiate everything, I get insecure. I hate that. Or I start to wonder whether we're on a date at all. I guess we are because he paid for my food and drinks. That means something, right? Whatever. Either way, I've lost interest. FYI guys, I'm not here to make friends. Smooch or get off the pot!

I get downright angry if a guy doesn't make a move. I once went out for dinner with a guy then we parted ways at the subway--I was going uptown and he was heading downtown--and after he gave me a friendly hug, I felt a full-on hissy fit coming on. As I paced around the platform, I made a lot of frustrated gestures. I think I even mouthed the words "what the fuck," as I mocked pulling my hair out.

Long story short, he called me an hour later to make sure I got home okay then asked why I was flipping out when I was waiting for the train. I totally forgot that he was across the tracks; he had witnessed my entire freakout! I mumbled something about how I had a tough day at work then just felt like one huge, "Yikes!" caption.

The point: Don't flip out within his field of vision. Wait 'til you get home.

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Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "I Don't Wanna Waste Your Time"

I can't stand when a guy says this to me. Here is what we do together: eat food, watch movies, go out for drinks, and kick it. Those are all things that I like doing. In particular, those are all things that I like doing with him. If that's wasting my time, then I don't even know what.

Here are a few things that should apologize to me for wasting my time:

• Facebook
• Last season's Big Love
• PerezHilton.com
• Any episode of Maury Povich that I've ever watched
• Any news item involving Sarah Palin
• Reading about hegans
• Reading about hipsters using food stamps
• Rush hour traffic
• This season of Lost

He's acting like he's doing me--and my time--a favor by peacing out. But, he should know that I don't have that many important things to do. Return emails? Make a phone call? I'll get to it later. I'm not Donald Trump here; I can hang out 1-3 nights a week and have it be ok.

I get it that he doesn't want to keep seeing me for whatever reason, but blaming it on wasting my time is just fucktarded.

As a side note, this is the video for the Strokes' song, "Under Control." A boy actually played this song while he was breaking up with me and told me to listen to the lyrics because they described what he was feeling. He'd point to the speakers and nod every time the singer sang, "I don't wanna waste your time." TRUE STORY!

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Reader Submitted Bonerkiller: Sneaker Pimps

From our reader Danielle, who thinks this whole trend of dudes wearing sneakers with their suit needs to get the boot.

Peeeee-EW!

What is the deal with dudes who wear sneakers to work? Like, sneakers with their suit? When they get to the office are they changing into a pair of pumps or heels? Is is really that much more uncomfortable to walk to work in your nice work shoes than a grimy pair of tennis shoes from 1983?

And now that you are toting around an extra pair of shoes like my 57-year-old secretary does, you need somewhere to keep them. So, you're rocking tennis shoes AND a manbag on the way to the office. NOT COOL! I am a 27-year-old woman in a corporate job and I would die before I got caught walking to work in my nice black suit with tube socks and sneakers! It's freakin' pathetic.

All I could think about when I read this was that it seems like something David Arquette would do; it's goofy, like a knock-knock joke or the hand-buzzer gag. THE ONLY TIME this look would be acceptable is if you're Robert Downey Jr. and you're going to an awards show. Otherwise, you just look like a douche.

What gets your goat? Email us at hi@shmittenkitten.com and vent.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: A Giant Bottle of Sriracha Sauce

Like Biz Markie sang, you've got what I neeeeeeed. And, I need some Sriracha sauce. I have a lot of hot sauce requirements, and this is one of them. And, it's radical when a guy steps up to the hot sauce plate.

We'll get some Chinese food delivered to his house and my noods (noodles) will need a bit of a kick. Before the words have left my mouth, he'll sprint up from his seat and produce the bottle of cock sauce faster than you can say "cream of someyoungguy." Honestly, if he were a superhero, his superpower would be to produce the Sriacha bottle in a flash.

 I've given up hope that a guy will have the following stocked in his house: fluffy towels, emergency stashes of candy, and/or sunscreen that hasn't expired. That's fine. I've come to terms with that.

However, knowing that he has a bottle of this stuff on hand makes it all semi-tolerable. I'll overlook his barren cupboards as long as he has a bottle of this spicy condiment tucked away in his fridge for kickin' up our takeout. Shine on, you crazy, Sriracha sauce-loving diamond.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Fancy Hand Soap

Seriously, this smells like Justin Bieber's neck

It's always a crap shoot when you pump the hand soap bottle in his house. There are a few ways this could go:

1. Worst case: It's empty. Lovely. It's like the fake turkey on the table in Arrested Development. Is this a prop? Am I on a film set? Does this toilet even work?
   
   
2. Medium case: It has been injected with faucet water in an attempt to re-animate it to its once soapy glory. Texture-wise, it feels like washing up in a boxer's spit bucket.
   
   Sorry, Dr. Frankenstein, but your efforts to transform this watery soap into actual soap literally fell flat. There is one bubble in my palm and it's looking at me like it's about to commit suicide. You literally burst this bubble's bubble by giving him no bubble buddies to pal around with. Pathetic!
   
   
3. Better case: It dispenses soap with respectable lathering properties. Dial or Dove liquid soaps fall into this category. His mom probably bought it for him at the dollar store. Fair enough.
   
   
4. Best case: This soap is something that he went out of his way to purchase or maybe it was a present from a gay friend. It smells pleasant yet neutral, like a basil leaf or sweet water. The lather could be described as luxurious, even. My hands are soft and smell like I high-fived nature. Well done! If there was a survey card about your hand soap, I'd rate it highly and enthusiastically write "keep up the great work!" in the comment section.

Yeah. Not to get all Martha Stewart about it, but a great hand soap goes a long way.

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Bonerkiller: Move Bluffers

"Sit down. I gotta tell you something."

"Alright. What's up?" I'm slightly concerned. The only things this guy is ever serious about are discussing Metallica's tragic career trajectory and deciding who will go on a beer run. I furrow my brow.

He takes a deep breath. "I'm moving. To Austin." He watches my face.

"Yeah, right. When?"

"By June. I've already told my roommates. It's like, totally gonna happen. I just wanted to let you know."

"Ha! Sure. Whatever you say. Why Austin? You don't even know anyone in Austin," I point out.

"I'll stay with my buddy Doug from school. He says he can get me a job at the bar he works at. I'll do that until I get on my feet. I just gotta get out of this city, man. Clear my head, you know?" 

Oh-kay. Sorry I'm not bursting into tears, but here's the thing: THIS MOVE WILL NEVER HAPPEN! Wasn't it just eight months ago that you sat me down to break the news that you were gonna move to London? Do you just spin a globe and decide you're gonna move to wherever you randomly point? Are you gonna move to the Mariana Trench next? How about Uranus? Why don't you just move to a new galaxy.

When I was in college, practically every guy I knew droned on about moving to San Diego. After college, practically every guy I knew droned on about moving to Portland. San Francisco was kicked around for a good year, too. However, none of these guys ever followed through. Instead of the Boy Who Cried Wolf, it's the Boy Who Cried "I'm Moving." 

As someone who's moved more than a few times, a part of me looks down on move bluffers. I've had going away parties because I was actually moving away. It takes a lot of guts to pick up your crap and relocate to another city. But, it seems when push comes to shove, something always comes up to delay these guys' plans. Maybe they need to put their money into fixing their car. Maybe they realized that this city isn't so terrible after all. Maybe they just got plain ol' lazy. Whatever the reason, to paraphrase TLC, I don't want no move bluffer.

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Shmitten Kitten Has A Newsletter and EVERYONE Is Pumped

Newsies are so pumped about our newsletter that they are doing chest bumps. Now, that's excitement. Click on the picture to subscribe.

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Phrases We'd Like To Stab In The Face: "So, Why Are You Still Single?"

I'm not a violent person, but when a guy asks me this, I want to cause him severe bodily harm. It's like how job interviewers ask you, "What's your worst quality?" This is a lousy question! I'm trying to put my best foot forward here. I'm wearing mascara. I turned my cell phone off. I shaved my legs. Enough with the interrogation, Sipowicz.

What could I possibly say in response to this?

"I'm single because I shanked the last guy who asked me this question."
"I'm single because I wanted to subject myself to lame questions that make me defensive before I've even finished my first drink."
"I'm single because I haven't met any guys who haven't asked me this fucktarded question that have lived to tell about it."
 
Guys, we love you, but PLEASE do not ask a girl this. It puts us on the spot. Ask about the time we went to Italy. Ask about what it was like when we went to Space Camp. Seriously, ask us ANYTHING except about why we're still single. Otherwise, we will stab you...with our eyes.

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I Wasn't Expecting This, But Now I'm Expecting

For those of you who were wondering why I was drinking water all night when I deejayed last week, well, here's your reason. I couldn't say anything because it wasn't quite time yet. But, everything's been given the clear by my doctor and now I can confidently tell the world that I'm gonna be a mommy! Apparently, I'm going to have a Libra. I think I'm gonna name him Justin after his daddy. Click on the image to see me with my big belly!

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