Pics and Vids: Awwww, Shit. I Gotta Choose Just One?

What if I want a zig-a-zig-ah?

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Phrases I SAY That Guys Wanna Stab In The Face: "So, When Can I See You Next?"

Whoa there, Peter! Whatchu doin'?

This phrase is the equivalent of Greg Brady's cursed tiki statue in my life; it's my bad luck charm. Every time I've uttered, "So, when can I see you next?" to a guy I'm dating, he peaces out. It's alarming.

At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but as it's happened more and more, I'm beginning to think that it's a cursed phrase.

Instead of just not saying it--which is what a smarter person would probably do--I put my hair in a ponytail, slapped on a pair of goggles, lit up a Bunsen burner and started testing my theory to confirm that this phrase was a relationship doomer. But of course, as soon as the phrase left my lips, guys would get all squirrely and non-committal.

It seems like an innocent enough phrase, so I have NO IDEA why it has repelling powers. It's not like I'm asking him to shop for wedding dresses with me. I'm just trying to plan my week out. Sheesh!

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Justifications: I Only Gave Him My Number Because He Reminded Me Of Riff Raff

Just so we're clear: I ONLY gave this guy my phone number because he reminded me of Riff Raff, that badass furball from Heathcliff. Look at this little dude:

Like Riff Raff, this dude was short, chubby, had a cool hat and a rockin' scarf; he was basically a human incarnation of him. Not only did I think it was cool that he looked like a cartoon drawing of a junkyard cat, but for one minute, I delusionally thought that I could be his Cleo:

THIS IS HONESTLY HOW I THOUGHT WE'D LOOK TOGETHER. So, I gave it to him. Yeah, that was his appeal. That's why I did it! This might shock you, but he never called and now he pretends he doesn't know who I am when I see him around town. Shrug.

Have you ever given your number to a weirdo and none of your friends understood why? Tell me! I wanna know! Email your justification to hi@shmittenkitten.com and state your case. Let's hear it.

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MR. FISHTOWN WINS! MICHAEL PRINCE IS KING!

Congratulations to Michael Prince aka Mr. Fishtown. He's our Mister America for Philly. Wait, that sounds weird. Fuck it, let's just call him the King of Philly.

All of the guys put up a great fight, but ultimately Michael won everyone over with his charm. Hot damn, that guy knows how to wear a suit well! It might've given him the edge. His name evokes royalty anyway, so it's no surprise that he would take the top spot. As a winner, he gets five cases of Sly Fox beer AND gets to judge Varsity Tryouts at Cheerleaders with his best buds. Woohoo!

On a personal note, I want to thank everyone for coming out last night. We really didn't know what to expect when we decided to stage a live pageant featuring a bunch of dudes, but last night couldn't have gone better. All of the guys who participated really got into it and put on a fantastic show. I had a blast up on the mic. It was almost like I was on stage at Amateur Night at the Apollo. Rocktits! were amazing, as always. Sly Fox were the best beer sponsor ever because we got nice and drunk, courtesy of them. The staff at Johnny Brenda's were downright saintly. And, we couldn't have asked for a better, more rowdy crowd.

Instead of telling you about it, peep the slideshow below so you can see how radical it was. Be sure to enable the comments so you get the full experience.



Yup, that was pretty radical. I swiped the photos from Lora and Brian's uploads, so muchos gracias. Can't wait 'til next year to do it all again!

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Mr. West Philly: Dustin

Who he is: A total hit at our Mix Tape Speed Dating parties last fall, Dustin is a natural choice to rep West Philly. Did we mention that he's a cat photographer? Because he is.

Why you should cheer him on: According to him, "I'm skilled with the camera and the guitar, a black belt in karate, and a lover of females and felines. Also, I have all of my teeth." These are all powerful arguments, Dustin.

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Mr. Northeast: Steve

Who he is: The kind of guy you can take home to your mother. 

Why you should cheer him on: Here's what he told us, "Why does the world turn? Why does every girl I meet want to marry me? Why do my friends always make me buy them drinks?

Why does Shmitten Kitten continue to host the most rockin' parties in Philly? Most of these questions make no sense as their answers are so obviously easy, but picking me does. Do it!"

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Mr. South Philly: Eddie

Who he is: If he looks familiar, it's because he was also nominated as one of our Sexiest Dudes ALIVE! back in December. We loved him so much, that we wanted to bring him back. He is one half of the Rogerio Bros. hosts drunk spelling bees, slings coffee at Honey's AND masterminds karaoke parties at the Barbary. Nice.

Why you should cheer him on:
Here is what we wrote about him in December: "Um, Eddie rules. He is unfailingly positive and as a bonus, he is super easy to spot in the crowd. Hugging him feels like falling into a pile of happy puppies. Also, his blog is hysterical. Two thumbs way up."

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Mr. Fishtown: Michael Prince

Who he is: You might've seen him sliding beers down the counter at the Lost Bar or maybe he was sliding into home on Johnny Brenda's softball team. Either way, we're psyched to have him take part of this event.

Why you should cheer him on: Aside from being a radical, friendly guy, the word on the street is that Ladies Love Cool Michael. And, look at him wailing on the keyboard over there. Hubba hubba.

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Mister Northern Liberties: Jay

Who he is: As lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist of Venice Sunlight, we knew we had to snap him up.

Why you should cheer him on: According to him, "I'm probably one of the few non-douchey dudes you'll ever meet, at least in No Libs. I'm approachable, have interesting things to say, and have had hilarious scandals happen to me in Philly." We're intrigued.

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Mr. Wildcard: Brian

Who he is: A tattoo artist by trade at Jersey Devil Tattoo, he can also paint and drink an "unhealthy" amount of Jameson whiskey. You can peep his sketchbook here. Pretty cool.
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Why you should cheer him on: In his own words: "Because not only am I a worldly gentlemen, but I'm pretty: I made a beer gut and and a handlebar mustache awesome." Who can argue with that?

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Bonerkiller: Admitting You Have MURDERED Someone On The First Date

I thought he was cute, really cute. And I loved that he taught himself English by watching episodes of Arrested Development. That's adorable.

What's not so adorable: MURDER.

After spending an hour or so making small talk, I made a little joke: "I think we'll get along fine as long as you're not some crazy hobo killer or anything."

He seemed to take my joke as an opportunity to confess that, yes, in fact, he WAS a hobo killer.

As I sipped my beer, he recounted the story of the time he was sixteen and living on the streets in Cuzco and had to defend his life by stabbing a homeless man in the chest. I silently counted the seconds 'til I could run out of the room.

Here's a pro tip: some things are better left for fourth, fifth or NEVER date banter. Clearly, the story of murdering a vagrant would be an example of that.

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Bonerkiller: Crumpled Dollar Bills

When he digs into his pocket and produces a wad of crumpled dollar bills to pay for his cup of coffee, I take pause. Is his pocket the trash compactor in Star Wars? Does he like having his money look like dented ping pong balls? Is he against folding?

Those are some crinkled money balls, my man. It's like he's peeling a tiny artichoke made out of money.

And, I can already tell that this guy is gonna be a vending machine liability because there is no way that it's gonna recognize THAT as American currency. He'll try and flatten it out by the rubbing it over the edge of the Coke machine, but it won't work and then he'll turn to me with his puppy dog eyes and ask if he can borrow a crisper buck. Even machines think his dollar bills are stupid, not just me.

I don't know if he picked up a shift at the local topless bar or what, but his pockets look like a stripper's coin purse. His money doesn't have to be as stiff as a British man's upper lip, but come the fuck on.  

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Pics and Vids: A Monday Math Equation

(McLovin - a fake ID) + a Cosby sweater + Doritos breath + a Casio wristwatch + sweaty palms + Jefferey Dahmer's eyeglasses /  a Flowbee haircut x a TI-83 calculator = This fucking guy.

Not gonna lie: We'd crack up if he spelled "BOOBS"on that thing

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Let Me Guess: We're Gonna Stay At His House

Look how clean he's getting!

No, I don't have a crystal ball. I did not consult the arrangement of tea leaves at the bottom of my mug and, no, I did not call a psychic friend. How do I magically know that we'll end up at his house tonight? Well, because we ALWAYS stay there despite the following facts:

• My shower is filled to the brim with fancy products to choose from
• My kitchen is well-stocked with delicious food
• I have new movies from Netflix that we could watch
• I have the kind of bathtub that a bum could take a bubble bath in and feel reasonably refreshed afterwards

His house doesn't have any of these things! Bums would not be pumped to bathe there. So, why do we stay at his place all the time? Because he likes to sleep in his own bed. He likes being in his little cubby hole, like a hamster in his cage.

It didn't start out this way. At the beginning of our courtship, it was a good 50/50. But by the second month, it was more 60/40. Now we've slid into solid 90/10 and I'm not into it. It's weird because I'm the one that needs to haul over my make-up bag and make sure I have moisturizer and sunscreen all the time. He just rolls out of bed and tosses on a shirt and then he's good to go.

So, why do I put up with it? I guess it's because he never seems fully relaxed at my house. He's out of his comfort zone, like Will Smith when he first moved to Bel Air. Honestly, he does seem more comfortable in his element i.e. a shitty South Philly row home. So, I'll put up with it. For now.

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Oh No He Di'int Ignore My Friend Request

I see. So, that's what my Internet friendship means to you? Obviously it's not very much because you've ignored my friend request like it's nothing. I'm not asking you for money or a ride to somewhere inconvenient, I'm asking to be a little box hanging out with all of your other little boxes on a website you visit out of boredom/curiosity.

You know, I never thought I'd have so much in common with a Viagra spam ad because we both seem to be in your trash folder. And, that's what I feel like: TRASH!

I don't want to be your online friend anyway. It doesn't even look like that much fun. You probably never post cool links or funny status updates. Now that I think about it, I don't wanna have access to your shitshow page, with the sparse info filled in and whatnot. I've seen waaaaaay better pages in my day with funny random quotes and clever hobbies up the wahzoo! Fuck your page and fuck you.

Ok. Upon, re-reading that last paragraph, I realize that I might've been a little dramatic. And immature. But, I'm totally gonna change for you, baby. I'll be nicer. You make me want to be nicer, that's why I need you in my stable of 467 friends.

I'll "like" roughly one-third of what you post. And--I'm gonna put this out there--you can totally hide my updates if you want. I'm okay with that. It's fine, really.

Come here. We're cool, right? Give me a smile. There it is! Haha. I knew I could make you smile. I was just saying how much I love it when you smile. Really! Yeah, I was just telling that person right there that you have, like, the BEST smile ever. Alright, let's go grab some pizza. My treat.

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Quick Rant: Men's Summertime Fashion

I've decided not to go on any dates this summer. Why, you ask? Here you go: I don't know how to go on a date without looking like a complete idiot. When the hot humid months of summer arrive, I can't leave the house in the daytime without looking like a total fashion disaster.

In the winter months, I'm golden. I can whip together a classy jeans/jacket/scarf combo that will leave you thinking I fell right out of a photo spread on The Sartorialist. But once the weather forecast starts heading into the 80s, I'm done for.

I realize the catalogs you get in the mail show dudes looking oh-so-comfortable and classy wearing boat shoes and lounging on the decks of yachts, but those are male models. For the rest of us normal-looking dudes, we just look ridiculous.

You see, in the summer I have only four options:

• Sacrifice comfort for fashion and wear jeans and my normal clothes, which is doable during an evening date. However, if the sun is still out, you're going to be looking at one hot sweaty mess of a date. Gross. Nobody wants a sweaty date.
  
  
• Go for comfort and wear shorts and a t-shirt, which inevitably makes me look like a bearded 15-year-old skater kid version of myself.
  
  
• Try to class it up and wear shorts and a button-up or a polo, which makes me look like some weird fast-forward awkward dad version of myself.
  
  
• Go for total comfort and wear no pants at all. This is just...awkward.

As you can see, none of these options are appealing.

Then, of course, there's the issue of shorts. I never know what's "cool." Do I go above the knee or below the knee? Cargo or plain? Khaki or grey? IT'S ALL SO OVERWHELMING. Don't even get me started on socks.

So, basically, I'm going into hiding. If you need me, I'll be enjoying the cool hum of my apartment's air conditioner and wearing whatever I want. I'll see you when the leaves start changing color; I'll be the one wearing pants.

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I Feel I Failed To Impress You When I Kept My Fucking Cool

Now THAT'S a cool penguin

Do you even appreciate how fucking laid back I've been about dating you? I let you do your thing with your retarded asshole friends without giving you shit about it even though it's Saturday night and I was fucking hoping that we'd go out to dinner or some shit. I was all like, "Have fun with your buddies!" because I'm a fucking good sport and I'm totally fucking keeping my cool.

Listen up, you little fuckhead: I've been so low-key about our budding romance that I haven't even told my own fucking mother about it. She doesn't know that you fucking exist! I've only told two friends about you and I just mentioned you all casual and shit: "Oh, I've been hanging out with this new dude. He's rad." THAT'S IT! THAT'S ALL I'VE TOLD THEM BECAUSE I'M NOT MAKING A BIG FUCKING DEAL OUT OF DATING YOU.

I haven't even pictured what it'd be like if we got married or what we'd name our fucking kids. I've only Googled your name once and I just read the first two matches; THAT'S HOW FUCKING LAID BACK I'VE BEEN, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!

I only think about you roughly once every four hours and I didn't freak out that one time that you didn't call me when you said that you fucking would. I figured you were just busy at work or some shit, so I shrugged and didn't fucking bring it up the next time we fucking talked. I'M KEEPING AS COOL AS A PENGUIN'S NUTSACK WHEN IT USES A BLOCK OF ICE AS A SIT 'N' SPIN AND YOU DON'T EVEN APPRECIATE IT!

AHHHHHHHHHH!

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Things I'm Terrible At: Catching His Eye

"You're out of your element, Anna"

I'm a friendly girl and I love talking to everyone as I bop around town running errands. So when these standoff Stans stonewall me, I flip my lid. They won't even look at me as we're having a transaction! It's madness!

First offender: the cute guy who works at my bank. He's 5'6, slightly balding, and is swimming in his button-up work shirt because it's about two sizes too big. He probably has small hands too but I can't confirm that.

And, he refuses to look at me. I've taken it as a personal challenge to turn his head. I'll wear a low cut dress. I'll smack on some lip gloss. I'll even swipe on my lucky blush. NOTHING!

I feel like even if I walked into the bank dressed in nothing but a bikini, high heels, and a bucket of suds--because I'd just washed my car, naturally--he wouldn't even turn to look. Is he gay? Is he dead? What is going on? At this point, I've resigned myself to the fact that I have a better chance escaping from Alcatraz than catching his eye.

Second offender: the sweet guy who works at the cheese counter at Whole Foods. He refuses to acknowledge my charm. It's outrageous. I'm outraged. I'm putting my best flirt foot forward and he's acting like he's got better shit on his (cheese) plate. He gets really nervous when we talk and refuses to make eye contact with me. He just scoots around behind the cheese counter (like anyone gives a shit about his stinkin' feta.) Arrrrrrgh!

I basically have a Ph.D. in dealing with squirelly guys (it's an honorary degree), but these guys are badgering me with their indifference to my charms. My mojo is like a broken microphone: Is this thing on? *tap tap tap* Maybe they have mojo deflector rings that they've won in a Cracker Jack box? Maybe Mercury is in retrograde and it's making them go haywire? All I know is that this aggression will not stand, man. You hear me? IT WILL NOT STAND!

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Pics and Vids: Dance, Dance

Just so we're on the same page, if a guy were to ever greet me for our first date by dancing like the way Sam Rockwell does here, I would agree to have his children on the spot, no genetic screening required. It'd be a done deal.

And, not to sound creepy, but I'd pay up to $50 dollars to kiss one of his earlobes.

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Story Time: What's The Worst Text You've Ever Received?

Lately, I've been receiving a lot of stupid texts. I mean, they're just downright brain dead. They're so retarded that I keep looking at the screen because I can't believe that something so inane was coded into a laser beam, sent up to space, reflected off a satellite, and beamed back down to my phone.

Here a few of my most recent worst offenders:

Him: "I've been meaning to ask, did you send me anonymous sexy pics via Craigslist two years ago?"
Me: "Um, no."
After I queued up Shaggy's video for "It Wasn't Me," I mouthed "WTF?" for a good minute. This text exchange probably deserves its own post.

Me: "What are you up to?"
Him: "Porn"
Me: "Watching it or starring in it?"
WHY IS THIS GUY TEXTING ME ABOUT PORN AT ALL! Gross.

Him: "Durrrrrrr"
Him: "Heyyyyyy"
Him: "Yo"
Me: "It's like you are physically unable to text me a noun."

I showed you mine, now you show me yours. Post 'em in the comments, por favor. It's like our own version of Texts From Last Night!

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Mix Masters: Yvynyl's Floppy Hats for Summer Mix

We asked our homie Mark from Yvynyl to put together a mix for our readers and we were thrilled when this baby popped up in our inbox. It the perfect soundtrack to ease us into warmer days and even warmer nights. Click here or on the image to download it.

photo by Pepe Cardoso

Track listing:

1. Ride My Bike - Trriangle    
2. O.N.E. (NEON TUXEDO remix) - Yeasayer    
3. Can't Slow Down - Lionel Richie    
4. Jesus - DOM    
5. Shelia (CRACKS remix) - Atlas Sound   
6. Lady Daydream - Twin Sister    
7. Too Young To Burn - Sonny And The Sunsets    
8. Away FRM U - Oberhofer   
9. Chinatown - Wild Nothing    
10. Wilderness - Active Child   

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I Love Love Love Guys That Listen to the Misfits

I first heard the Misfits in high school. My boyfriend played them for me when we were driving in his car.

"Who is this?" I asked.

"The Misfits. They're one of my favorite bands." He inched the volume up a few clicks.

"Oh, yeah. I've heard of them before, I've just never heard them."

He took his eyes off the road and looked at me. "They sound so romantic, you know?"

Romantic. Hmmm. I had to let that tumble around my head a bit. I'd never heard him use that word before to describe anything, much less a band from New Jersey that sang about werewolves, zombies, and horror hotels.

I bought their greatest hits album the next week. Although their image seemed savage, what with the devil's locks and skulls, their music was pretty tame with choruses that seemed ripe for sing-a-longs. The grittiness appealed to me; the low rumble of the bass sounded like it'd been dragged through dirt. I put "Return of the Fly" and "Some Kind of Love" on all of my mix tapes from then on. My boyfriend received their box set the following Christmas as a present. It was shaped like a mini-black coffin and it came with a limited edition pin that said "Fiend Club" on it. I considered stealing it, but I didn't. He'd notice if it went missing.

The first song I learned to play on my guitar was "Last Caress," so you can understand why I get a charge when a guy tells me that he likes the Misfits. It warms me up to him automatically. That's probably where most of my life problems generate from: I'd pick a guy in a Misfits shirt over a guy with a 401(k).

Generally speaking, your average Misfits fan:

• looks lumpy in a suit
• has daydreamed about having a wedding on Halloween
• owns one hoodie that he wears all the time and it smells like what could only be described as "sugared armpit"
• has had the same summer "look" for almost 15 years (it's cargo shorts and a band t-shirt)
• actively posts on messageboards
• gets excited when the total due is $1.38
• is terrified of women, yet always seems to have a girlfriend
• has the eating habits of a teenage girl with PMS i.e. lots of fried foods and sweet treats
• still subscribes to skateboard magazines
• doesn't dance AT ALL unless he's wasted
• still has a healthy collection of VHS movies collecting dust in his house
• has at least one tattoo of a monster

But, I still love Misfits fans. I probably always will. Here, let's listen to a song.

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I Love Love Love Lawn Wranglers

OG Lawn Wranglers

I wanna make a tall, refreshing pitcher of lemonade for all the guys out there they do yard work on their lawns because they look SO CUTE stomping around and fixing up their house.

"Oh yeah. Spread that mulch around, baby. Clip those hedges. Trim that bush. Ride that mower round and round. Keep going. Don't stop!"

His clothes are sticky with sweat from doing heavy labor all morning. It doesn't matter because he's wearing the rattiest outfit he owns; he knew he was gonna get dirty. He banked on it.

And, I gotta say, those Umbro shorts he's sporting are practically clinging to his waist for dear life. They look pretty haggard from years of sweeping up leaves, clearing fallen branches, and cleaning out rain gutters. He's rockin' thick work gloves so he looks like a dingy version of Mickey Mouse. When he stops to wipe the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and smiles at me, my heart melts into a puddle. That's my man gettin' grimy and it's adorable!

I'm sitting on the porch with my face my hands watching him grunt around in the grass like a caveman and all I can think about is poppin' that sweaty tee off when he's done and pushing him into a cold shower. Rawr.

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Surprisingly Not a Bonerkiller: Stroller Stallions

Most girls are out the door by the time "I have a ki--" comes out of a guy's mouth. He could have been trying to say "I have a kitten," but the alternative word (kid) is considered so bad that most chicks won't stick around to hear the rest of the sentence.

Why do these girls do the scaredy cat shuffle? Well, there's plenty of reasons why someone wouldn't wanna date a dude with a kid: Maybe he has a crazy ex, maybe the kid is prone to bratty temper tantrums, maybe it means that you won't get sufficient alone time with him, etc.

BUT there's also something kinda sexy about a dude with a kid, given the right situation. This guy is legally responsible for another human being's life. Some guys can barely feed and dress themselves, let alone someone else. Seeing a dude love and care for another person other than himself is hot.

And, kids tend to bring out the silliness in others. Ever see a guy play with his kid in the park or try to teach her mini-golf with ice cream all over their faces? It's freakin' adorable. You can tag along with them during all the fun things they do like zoo trips, pizza parties and playing hopscotch on a sidewalk without looking like a child predator.

Or, you can nerd out at Chuck E. Cheese's and rock the 3-D glasses at the latest Pixar movie without feeling like a total dork. And, the best part? It's not YOUR kid. You can go home at the end of the night kid-free. So next time someone confesses to their amazing child-rearing talents, give the guy a chance. You might even grow to like the little dude.

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I Love Love Love Introduction Champs

From our reader Tanya who is very pleased to make your acquaintance:

Wassssssup?

We're out for the evening and we bump into his parents' friend. Or, we're out at a movie and a buddy of his from school is seated in the audience next to us. Or, maybe we're out to brunch and the waiter is his cousin.

I'm just happy he introduced me in the first place, but what makes me glad is the way he did it; no hemming or hawing, no trying to figure out what to call me, no awkward beady-eyed glances in my direction before realizing that I'm biting my lip and waiting to find out who this random connection is.

No, he calmly gestures to me, does a quick, "Do you know so-and-so?" and then proceeds to say my name and give a brief rundown of my accomplishments like a freakin' pro. Did I realize he knew I've done all those things? No! And it makes me like him even more for paying attention to my background and taking pride in sitting here next to me.

I've never thought about this, but it is really cool when a guy takes the time to make a proper introduction. It shows not only good manners but good character, like when he rolls down his window to ask the car next to us if they have any Grey Poupon.

What else do you love that guys do? Email us at hi@shmittenkitten.com and get yer gush on.

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Class Notes: TGIF

A bowl cut AND a carnation? SOLD!

Hey guys! A few things:

• A huge thanks to Monica Weymouth at the Metro for doing a little spotlight piece on me and my mean deejay skillz. I never set out to be a dj, so it's been a happy surprise that I've enjoyed it so much. And, it turns out that it's a great way to meet guys. Fuck Barnes & Noble on a Friday night; get up on stage, play some Jackson 5, and watch the men line up to buy you a drink. It rules.
  
  
• Speaking of deejaying, Lauren G and I will be fucking shit up at Dos Segundos' brunch on Saturday, May 8th from noon - 4pm. Stop by, jam on some margs, and say hi to us. I'm excited because this is our first all-ages event so all you youngins can come. Don't ever say that we didn't do anything for you.
  
  
• We are still accepting applications for our Mister America Pageant on Thursday, May 27th at Johnny Brenda's. Get 'em to us by May 13th. We'll announce the competitors soon thereafter. This is gonna be fuuuuuuun. 
  
  
• If you aren't already, follow me on Twitter.
  
  
• And "like" our Facebook page, whatever that means.
  
  
• And, sign up for our SK newsletter.

Have a great weekend!

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Make Me Run To Cross The Street Before The Light Changes

Him: "Come on!"

Me:"Uhhhhhh, the light is yellow."

Him: "We can totally make it. Hurry up!"

Me: "Ahhhhhhhhhhhh!" 

I'm jogging to catch up with him so that I don't get run over by the oncoming traffic thinking about how all I wanted to do was get smooched on this date, not squashed.

WHAT THE FUCK? When did this evening turn into the obstacle course in Double Dare? Do I have to find a flag up a huge nostril next? Maybe catch a rubber chicken in a basket affixed to my head?

When I agreed to go out with him, I didn't expect to find myself in my own, personal live version of Frogger. To be honest, this fancy bra isn't super-supportive. My boobs are flopping around like bouncy balls. And these flats were definitely not made for sprinting.

I thought about just waiting on the curb and letting him risk his life darting into traffic, which I should've done in retrospect. But, I didn't. And, now I'm running for my life. Oh god, someone just honked at me. I'm gonna kill him if I ever cross this street alive.

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I Love Love Love When Guys Sing The Song "Hunger Strike" In A Mocking Tone

"I don't mind stealing bread/ from the mouth of dec-a-dennnnnce." He's not stopping! "But, I can't feed on the powerless when my cup's already overfillllllled."

He's getting all into it, using his hands to emphasize the lyrics. His voice mimics Eddie Vedder's comically low baritone until he reaches the chorus when he switches to Chris Cornell's ear-curdling falsetto. Wow. Just, wow.

This is probably the funniest song a guy can sing to me when we're walking down the street leaving the bar slightly buzzed. IT WILL ALWAYS BE FUNNY, like seeing people trip on the street or trading Eastbound and Down quotes with your best friends.

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I Love Love Love Guys Who Do The Worm In Formal Situations

Worming his way into my heart

I'm standing in a loose semi-circle with the rest of the party guests, clapping and cheering this breaking dancing phenom on. Holy shit, who brought this party animal to this wedding? Because I freakin' LOVE HIM!

He's flopping around the dance floor doing the worm, rented tux be damned. I don't know where he learned to do it, but he's executing the move perfectly. It's like he's bringing a little bit of street to this ballroom and I am truly delighted at his impromptu performance. 

Is he single? Does he live here in town? Is he on Facebook? I wanna know everything about this one-man entertainment center. Is he staying at this hotel? What room? I MUST FIND OUT!

What's his name? Derek? *cups hands around my mouth* GO, DEREK, GO!

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Pics and Vids: The City Of Angels One-Ups Us

Sorry, Philly, looks like L.A.'s got us beat when it comes to creepy public solicitations for a woman's company. On the plus side, it makes my attraction to short guys with an affinity for burritos, the late '90s Jade Tree catalog and Wes Anderson movies seem downright sane. Yay, I guess?

via

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This Saturday: Jam on Margs and Nachos With Us

This Saturday, we're taking over Dos Segundos for a bangin' brunch. It's all going down on Sat., May 8th from 12pm - 4pm. I'll be spinning music as my wild alter ego, DJ Goy Toy, along with my homegirl, Lauren G aka Treacle Pops. It's gonna be a Shmitten Kitten fiesta. Come!

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I Feel I Failed To Impress You When I Told You That I Liked Heavy Metal

heavy metal kitty is into heavy metal

Him: "Basically, I'm really into heavy metal."

Me: "Really? Me too. I love heavy metal." *bats eyelashes*

Him: "Cool, cool." *exhales deeply and takes a sip of beer*

I am wearing a dress and high heels and I just told you that I like heavy metal. WHY IS YOUR MIND NOT BLOWN BY THIS? Look around! What other woman is gonna think that talking shop about Slayer's "Reign in Blood" is a turn-on? I'm probably the only girl in here that wouldn't laugh in your face when you disclose your heavy metal affinity and this is the thanks I get? I didn't realize that meeting rad people of the opposite sex into your esoteric music scene was a bore for you. I see.

I wanna put you in a headlock, knock on your dome, and shout, "Anybody home, McFly?" into your ear. You've basically won the "meeting a girl who likes heavy metal" lotto at this stupid party and all you did was shrug and look around the room.

Your disinterest stuns me. I'm stunned. I'm gonna tell the Internet.

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Weird, Random Foodstuffs In His Cabinents

Rooting through your cabinets is a total free-for-all: Nothing has a label on it. Rolled oats are in unmarked mason jars. Bags of lentils are piled on top of one another like Jabba the Hut's chin. Who knows where or how any of these foodstuffs were secured.

A sticky bottle of apple cider vinegar is cemented to the shelf. A jar of olives has DUST on it. A bottle of imitation vanilla looks like a victim of a violent mugging and your garlic powder has congealed into a hardened rock.

Is this your kitchen or a Dharma Initiative bunker because everything looks like it's been here since before Britney shaved her head. For all you know, these were the remnants of the last tenant. They probably just came with the apartment.

I wouldn't use anything in here to bake anything. I wouldn't even cook a dirty bomb in here. I wouldn't even cook meth! If your kitchen were a show about cooking anything, it'd be called Breaking Sad. Not that I make it a habit to cook bombs or meth, but you get the point.

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Bonerkiller: Guys With Severe Sunburns Because They Just Look Stupid

I will never take a guy seriously if he's talking to me with a severe, stupid sunburn on his mug. Did this guy fail out of the Boy Scouts? Doesn't he know that he has to protect his skin? Slap on some SPF, brother.

I not talking about if he took a long bike ride and got a little more color than usual, I'm talking about those loud, belligerent, drunk sports dudes that waddle up to me with a face redder than a freshly spanked behind. It's the stupid icing on their stupid not good cake.

By the way, have you ever seen the show Kenny vs. Spenny? Well, it's like when Kenny and Spenny competed to see who can be homeless the longest and Spenny panhandles all day and spends his money on sunblock. I can't stand Spenny, but I can relate to his commitment to protect his skin from the sun's harmful rays.

As a side note, this is one of my favorite shows of all time so if you haven't seen it, stop what you're doing and watch every single episode. It's NSFW because Kenny cusses a lot and basically verbally abuses Spenny.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Cool Magazines Fanned Out On His Coffee Table

Rad mags make me happy

What a delight, good sir! I see that you have an impressive display of periodicals. I have to say that it is a downright pleasure to kill time in your living room as you finish getting ready for our date. I'm flipping out while I flip through 'em. Wired, Atlantic Monthly, Paste, the New Yorker: oh my! Toss in a few British music mags and I'm good to go.

Just knowing that these babies are here puts me in a good mood. I feel like I'm in a hip dentist's office, which is not a bad thing. Having cool magazines fanned out on your coffee table shows me that we'll hit it off roughly 60% better than before I knew that these were in your house.

I'm especially pleased because there's not a dud in the pile. No Maxims, no Us Weeklys, no Playboys. Whew. If it's a single copy, that's passable. Maybe he got it for free on a flight. But if he were to subscribe to any of those, well, that just unacceptable. And, there aren't any pretentious art or fashion magazines in there either. Well done!

I'm picturing you filling out a subscription card for each magazine and popping it in the mail and it's the cutest thing I've ever thought of. Maybe you subscribed online? Doesn't matter. Just the idea of you making that a priority makes my heart hum.

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