R.I.P. Our Second Date

I'm here today to say goodbye to our second date. I never got to know you, but I heard great things about you and how much fun you'd be. It's a shame that your time on this planet was cut short before we got the chance to meet.

But, he did talk about you. Oh yes, several times during our first date he excitedly said that for you, our second date, we would go miniature golfing. He raved about you, assuring me that it would happen the following Saturday. I already picked out my outfit in my head. 

After golf, he was going to take me to dinner at this little BYOB that only uses food procured from local farmer's markets. A perfect mid-summer's evening with my new man! The world was our oyster and our second date was going to be the pearl in that oyster.

You sounded lovely, second date, but I'll never feel that putter in my hand and I'll never taste those yummy organic dishes. And, I'll never know you because he never called me to schedule it.

Oh God, this is hard. I'm sorry, everyone, I promised myself that I wouldn't cry.

Maybe, second date, you were just too beautiful for this world. I hope that you're happy up there with your brother, Guys Who Joke About Marrying Me On The First Date Rarely Want To Marry Me By Our Third Date. He, too, left this earth too soon. What a tragedy.

Goodnight, my sweet prince. Every time I see a star twinkle in the night sky, I'll think of you up there, winking at me like the class act I knew you'd be. 

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Quick Rant: Go Away, I'm Macking

I'm not sure if he has some kind of premium iPhone app for showing up when I'd least like to see him, but without fail, my ex crash lands on my fun planet at the worst times.

I'll be giggling up a storm with a dude I just met, and just when he takes my hand and asks me to dance, I'll see my ex's face staring at me through the crowd looking at me all wounded like I just ran over his cat.

Or, I'll be yelling my phone number in another guy's ear and I'll look up to see my ex leaning against a wall with his arms crossed, shaking his head. My new guy won't even notice it, but I'll feel his stony stare searing into my skull like a shitty laser.

Why does he always have to magically appear when I try to get my swerve on? Did he affix a tracking tag under my skin when I wasn't looking? Did Scotty beam him in to this club? Is he a bloodhound, following my scent around the city? (For what it's worth, I do smell pretty good.) Sometimes, this town just feels too small.

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Bonerkiller: Loud Chewers

From our reader Ruby, who CAN'T STAND chew chumps:

Loud chewers are one of my biggest pet peeves, ever ever ever. Where did he learn this behavior? It's as quiet as outer space when his mom eats. Why didn't she correct him when he was a child? He's 25 now and this should've been nipped in the bud a while ago. Between the lip smacking and finger licking. the acoustics of his mouth are impressive. I can literally hear his body turning solid food into a paste. And, I get to hear what that paste sounds like as he moves it all around his mouth. It's the worst. 

It annoys me so much that I have to pause while I'm eating to see if he's chewing loudly on purpose. For the most part, he is doing it subconsciously. Sometimes he will think he's funny and do it louder to fuck with me. "Ha ha," I'll say out loud. This joke would be way funnier if it wasn't how he actually sounded. I tried gently coaxing him to be quieter, but he either gets defensive or straight-up ignores me. This is the mouth that he uses to kiss me, but watching him eat makes me want to stay far away from it. Ew, dude!

It's been two years. I've stopped leaving hair on the shower walls (because I don't want to clog the drain) and now its time for him to learn to chew quietly, a skill most 5-year-olds have mastered.

Holy shit, Ruby, my little sister says the same thing about me being loud when I eat. But, I'm not a loud chewer! I've never had ANYONE ever comment on my loud eating before, but my sister will get all intense out of nowhere and literally cover her ears while I jam on some matzah ball soup.

Personally, I think she has incredibly sensitive ears. She must be part-dog or something because I'm pretty sure she can hear frequencies undetectable to the human ear. It's like when Teen Wolf heard the dog whistle in the hardware store.

You and my sister should go out to Souper Crackers and see who stabs who first.

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Boxerdropper: I Will Think Your Crummy Car Is Kind Of Charming

Good news: I'm not a car snob. I'll hold for applause.

I'm picky about a lot of things guys do, but this is one area of his world that I'll let some serious shit slide. Sure, it's a bonus if his car is as clean and and pleasant-smelling as a box of Orbit gum but it's not mandatory. Therefore, I will be a great girlfriend because I'll never give him shit about his funky ride.

It's so cute how he bashfully apologizes that his car is wack, but I seriously don't care. I'm pumped that he even showed up to take me out, I'm not gonna quibble about how the engine rumbles or that the glove compartment won't close.

Honestly, I'll think it's cute that he has to rig up his busted ride. I'll smile at how he needs a fork to tear out tapes that get stuck in the cassette player or jiggle the door handle for my side to open.

And, as an added bonus, he'll sorta look like the Fonz when he pounds the dashboard with his fist to get the AC to work. It's pretty wild how everything needs to be coerced into working properly. As long as his car's not smelly, I'm cool. Huzzah!

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Kitchen Sponge

He always seems to have money for the little things in life. He doesn't blink at dropping $25 for a nice wine. He'll be the first one to pick up the next round when he's out with his friends. And, he'll spring for a cab ride home if he doesn't feel like walking. However, when it comes to his kitchen sponge, he never seems to pay more than 11 cents for the one thing responsible at making his kitchen semi-clean.

It's little and yellow, about the size of a s'more. But, I want s'less of this sponge because it is terrible at the one thing it should do: clean. It's a lightweight yellow foam square that's not absorbent; it just pushes soapy water around like a bitchy hall monitor. I think it's made out of the same material used in red clown noses which is fitting because I feel like a clown using it.

There was a thin strip of green abrasive material on the top to scrub pots and pans, but half of it has dissolved. All that's left of the (formerly) gritty side is a raggedy strip of gnarled plastic half falling off, like a bad toupee. It doesn't clean anything, much less greasy pots and pans. 

I used it once to scrub a lasagna pan and it was so ineffective I wanted to strangle it. When I asked it to get tough, grow a sac and tell that burnt cheese to fuck off, it looked at me, shrugged, and said it wasn't his problem. What kind of reaction is that? I expect my sponge to kick ass in a four-wheeled truck waving an American Flag and blasting early Metallica, not sitting around and debating Sigur Ros' back catalog whilst sipping herbal tea. This is bullshit!

When I looked under his sink for a different sponge to use--maybe something ergonomic, something with some grease-fighting heft--I saw a plastic bag containing about 15 more of the same square yellow foam jobs. It's terrible sponges for as far as the eye can see. And, that just makes me sad.

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Story Time: His Artwork Ain't Workin' For Me

Not to sound weird, but I've been in my fair share of guys' bedrooms. (Ahem.) It's always a crapshoot because who knows what kind of weird shit he'll have on his walls passing off as artwork?

Will he take his cues from Mr. Belevedere's room and affix tasteful pictures to the wall? Will his room have peeling band posters slapped up half-hazardly? Maybe something bizarre scoured from a thrift store? Maybe *gag* a framed football jersey looming large?

Maybe the walls will be bare, making me feel like I'm committed to a mental institution every time I step foot in there.

The worst artwork I've ever seen in a guy's bedroom was a Sublime poster with a black light underneath it. The Sublime poster was dorky enough, but coupled with the black light pushed the entire set-up into another realm of terrible. I made him turn on the blacklight for kicks and it felt like I was in the rave episode of Dawson's Creek.   

What's the WORST thing passing for artwork that you've seen hung up in his room? Tell me in the comments.

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I Love Love Love Guys Who Wear Faded '90s Indie Shirts

This guy is the real deal. You can tell by his shirt. It's faded and thin from years of wash 'n' wear. You can barely make out the Guided By Voices logo unless you squint.

The good news: he throws KILLER barbecues with tons of fancy beer in the fridge and will be more than happy to grill up veggie burgers for the non-meateaters in attendance. The bad news: he probably has long-standing commitment issues. Sad trombone noise.

He most likely played the Silver Jews on his college radio show. He probably thought Kelley Deal was hot before she had a heroin habit. He'll still talk about seeing Neutral Milk Hotel at a Merge Records showcase at CMJ. I'd bet he even went to one of the original Lollapaloozas, back when it was a sweaty freakshow traveling around the country replete with pierce tents and henna tattoo booths.

That's probably where he picked up that shirt. Or, maybe he snapped it up when the band played his hometown the summer after his sophomore year. Or maybe he ordered it from the record label and had it sent to him directly. (I used to do that.)

You can tell that it wasn't eBayed. It wasn't a hand me down. He sought this shirt out when he was a '90s indie snob and it's his favorite shirt, surviving dozens of moves and countless girlfriends. I mean, he bought that shirt before email was invented. It's practically his second skin. And, it's awesome. I can overlook his flaws because when he plays Superchunk as we make blueberry muffins from scratch on a sunny Sunday morning, it makes my heart smile.

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Bonerkiller: Gamblers

Bet you can't guess where this is from!

I'm the exact opposite of a gambler. I can't stand slot machines, I detest roulette, and I'll crinkle my nose at blackjack. I've been to Vegas twice and I hated it both times. Atlantic City bores me. I'm yawning just thinking about Atlantic City.

There is nothing about gambling that I find appealing because I hate losing money more than I like winning money. Besides, gambling lingo confuses me. I have no idea what a spread or an over/under is and I don't care to learn. There, I said it.

So, when my new guy divulges his gambling habit, I instantly start planning an escape route. It'll never work out because dating a gambler is like dating a guy with constant PMS: he'll have mood swings, he'll be irritable, and he'll be irrational. No thanks.

He'll shush me because he's focused on the game. His eyes will glaze over because he's concentrating on his poker hand. BORING! He'll say things like, "I have money riding on this, babe." The only thing he should be riding is me. (Haha! Ew, gross.)

And, watching a guy gamble is a total turn-off. When he wins it sucks because he's hooting and hollering like an eight-year-old in a Chuck E. Cheese ballpit. And, when he loses it sucks because he'll frown and pout like a cranky preteen which will ruin our night. Who needs it?

[Contest time: The first three people to correctly identify which movie this picture is from win a prize. Email me at hi@shmittenkitten.com to toss yer chips in.]

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Boxerdropper: I'm a Star Wars Nerd

Head's up: I know my shit when it comes to Star Wars. I could shoot the shit with you for hours about Lando Calrissian’s facial hair and the AT-AT’s worst design flaw ever. (Seriously, a huge badass robot weapon that you only need to TRIP to conquer??) I’ll knock you upside the head with my Star Wars know-how and then I’ll crack you up with my R2D2 impression.

And while this may not necessarily be a boxerdropper for every dude out there, it is definitely one for the type I go for (read: the slightly shy/hysterically funny/tiny bit nerdy/totally adorable guy) and that’s all that matters. Those guys are always on the lookout for a girl who knows it’s not ‘Dark Invader’ and that Vulcans and Klingons don’t exist in the galaxy far, far away. The fact that I don’t wear a cloak or have a unibrow is just an added bonus.

Those guys should be psyched because I’m a Star Wars nerd they can introduce to all of their friends without worrying that I might challenge one of them to a lightsaber duel. This is great news for all you scruffy-looking nerfherders out there. Fellas, I’m your girl.

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Oh No He Di'int Message Me After Just Announcing That He's Single

I recently received a Facebook message from a long lost guy friend. It was a sweet, thoughtful note that said, "I haven't seen you in a while. I'm missing that cute smile of yours!" I was excited to hear from him; I blushed at my computer screen.

Naturally, I clicked on his profile to see what he'd been up to lately. At the very top of his Facebook wall, his most recent status update announced: "Dude is now single." Hmmph. So he doesn't bother talking to me for years and then the moment he's single he starts sending me flirty messages!? Wait, I'm confused.

Was he a gentleman for waiting until he was single to reach out to me, or is he frantically writing all his random female friends in an effort to test the waters? How many other girls did he message before me? Facebook lists people alphabetically by first name, and since "L" is in the middle of the alphabet, I'm sure he's emailed at least a dozen girls before he got to my name.

I scrolled down the names: Amy, Beth, Carolyn, Danielle, Elise, Felicia...fuck you, man! Is your sweet note some kind of online booty bait? I hate the ambiguity of Facebook and I hate your (formerly) cute message. Delete!

Pro tip: If you're gonna announce your relationship status to the FB world and then start messaging potential dates immediately afterwards, please at least toss a YouTube video up on your feed so SINGLE is not the first thing we see! I'd settle for a picture of your lunch or a link to a CNN story or a boring update about your cat. Otherwise, not gonna lie, it just looks desperate. Get it together, man!

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Bonerkiller: Guys That Make Me Guess About Shit That I Don't Give A Flying Fuck About

Guess who farted?

Enough with the guessing games regarding shit I don't care about! I feel like I'm trapped in a gif image; this charade will not stop until I figure out this useless, boring trivial thing. He'll think he's being playful, but we catapulted past playful seven minutes ago when he first asked me to guess where his little sister decided to go to college.

"Guess who I saw at the mall last week?"
"Guess where I got these sunglasses?"
"Guess what I named my goldfish?" 

DUDE! I DON'T CARE! JUST TELL ME THE ANSWER TO THIS BORING QUESTION AND LET ME GO BACK TO MY FRIENDS ALREADY! Making me toss out more than two reasonable guesses about this bullshit is the most terrible thing that's ever happened to me (at this party tonight.)

He'll give me stupid clues that aren't helpful, which just frustrates me even more. And, he won't pick up on my disinterest. I'll shrug my shoulders and turn my palms up. I'll fidget and look around the room. I'm out of guesses, I'll say, exasperated. But, he won't accept it. He'll instruct me to keep guessing, even after I plead with him to just fucking tell me where he bought his jeans already.

By the way, the answer is never exciting, certainly not a worthy pay-off to his over-the-top buildup. This guessing game is like the Spiderman III of conversation, just the fucking worst from start to finish.

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Bonerkiller: Smokers

As someone who has dated my fair share of smokers, I can honestly say that I think smoking is one of the worst habits a guy can have, hands down. It's expensive, it's smelly, it's bad for his health: those are just a few of the reasons he should kick smoking to the curb.

But, the most annoying part is that when we go out on a date, he leaves me at the table by myself every half hour to go outside and get his fix. You know why people enjoy cable TV so much? Because there's no commercial breaks! Our date doesn't need the equivalent of a commercial break.

At first, it's not a big deal; I'll dick around, checking my email on my phone. But by the third or fourth time, it starts to become a thing. Sure, he'll invite me to come, but that means I have to take my purse with me, put the coaster over my beer and shuffle outside to stand around and make small talk which is borrrrring.

I've only had fun ONCE going outside while my dude smoked and it was because a guy pulled up in a cool car and I got to talk to him about it. That's the sum total of fun I've ever had standing outside of a bar I'd like to be in so that my date could have a smoke.

The worst is when we go out with my friends who also smoke because then I see everyone outside smoking together as I sit by myself. I'm like Stephen Glansberg, the kid who had to eat dessert all by himself in Superbad.

It also sucks when he leans in to kiss me after he's taken his last drag and he tastes like an ashtray. He'll get annoyed when I turn my head so the kiss lands on my cheek but COME ON, how could he not know that he tastes like dirt? Smokers, knock it off!

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Pics and Vids: This One Hits A Little Too Close To Home

There's a lot of collar tugging going on as I watch this clip because it sums up EXACTLY what it's like trying to date in this town. Talk about hittin' the nail on the head, man. Thanks, Julie G, for the link.




via

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Bonerkiller: You Wear The Same Cologne As My Ex

Do they issue this to 10th grade boys or what?

Come closer, loverboy. Mmm...something about you just drives me crazy. Being around you reminds me of listening to Belle & Sebastian on a sunny spring day and eating pizza in the quad. Wait a minute.

*sniff sniff* Oh lord. You smell like my ex.

Yup, it's the same exact cologne I bought him circa '01 when we first met and realized that he also smelled like a previous boyfriend. He wore the shit out of it and just smelling that scent transports me back to the days of skipping my 8am class to snooze another hour in his extra-long twin bed. Now I wanna toss a lanyard around your neck, dress you in cargo shorts, and have us shotgun a Miller Light together. I feel hungover just thinking about it. Your cologne is taking me back to my hot mess heyday.

You don't look happy. I'm not surprised. I wouldn't want my dude involuntarily thinking of another girl every time he got a whiff of my perfume. It could be worse though; imagine having to tell your high school boyfriend that he wears the same scent as your mother. I've heard he still cries at the mention of CK One. Poor little guy.

So, let's fix this: You. Me. Department store. I'll bring my off-limits cologne list and you just bring your fine self (just leave your Bio book and Frisbee at home).

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A Quick Programming Note

Hey guys!

I embedded a new plug-in that suggests other Shmitten Kitten posts. You see it down there? It offers three other SK posts in a little box. I like how it highlights them in a visual way. I'm pleased with it for the most part.

However, it might suggest posts with dead links or link to events that have already happened. Sorry 'bout that. As the software interacts with the site, it should suggest better, more appropriate posts. I'll give it a few days and see if it improves.

Thanks!

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Bonerkiller: Literally Losing My Shit

I lent him a handful of DVDs when he was sick last winter. It is now *calmly checks calendar* JULY and he has no idea where the movies went. He didn't take them out of his house. He doesn't have any roommates. I have no clue how he could've lost them.

Every time I bring it up, he just shrugs like he's saying, "Let it go. Forget about it because I already have." He hasn't offered to buy me replacement copies, he just changes the subject. Where did they go? Did he sell them on eBay in his sleep? Was he robbed by a thief who has a penchant for Paul Rudd comedies? 

I miss my copy of Role Models. And, there's an empty spot on my shelf where the second season of Mr. Show should be. Sometimes I'm in the mood to see Clark Duke be wacky but I can't because he still has my copy of Sex Drive. I'll forget about it until I'm in the mood to watch Eurotrip then the anger comes back full force that all of my favorite DVDs are in the Bermuda Triangle aka his house. Grrrrrrr!

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I Love Love Love Guys Who Speak Yiddish

From our reader Whitney, who is meshuggeneh about liking guys that drop Yiddish phrases:

I love love love boys who use Yiddish in conversation. It doesn't matter if he is schvitzing in this heat, complaining about schlepping his laundry, or talking about how his boss got everything all fachadick, it makes my foolish heart skip a beat.

Whether he's a goy or a member of the tribe, slipping those little gems into our conversation belies a sort of wry, anachronistic, twinkle-in-the-eye charm and a cursory cultural awareness that makes me a little weak in the knees.

So keep on keepin' on, boys. You're making this shiksa all verklempt.

I'd settle for a guy that just liked bagels.

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Quick Rant: Stop Fucking Up Your Phone, Dude

From our reader Michelle, who doesn't understand why he can't just be a responsible cell phone owner:

I was on Facebook recently and received an "I Lost My Phone, Send Me Your Numbers" message for the bajillionth time. I can't tell you how many guys I've dated who have had their phone lost, stolen, or destroyed while drunk.

My phone is my connection with the world; calls, text, email, and alarm clock are all possible thanks to my cell and without it I'm lonely and miserable. No matter how wasted I get, my phone cannot be pried from my clutches. I've never dropped it in a toilet, jumped into a pool with it in my pocket, or left it in a cab.

So when my former boyfriends give me the aforementioned excuses for not having a phone, I question not just their priorities, but their integrity as human beings because what kind of person can function without a phone? So after I roll my eyes, I spell out my phone number in text and in all CAPS so they know I'm mad. Ruuuuuude.

It's funny that you seem to take it as a personal insult if a guy loses his phone. I picture you making a face like Michelle Tanner, mouthing, "How rude!" when you get his lost phone notification.

I understand getting annoyed if he's always breaking shit like the Hulk, but guys do stupid shit all the time. Afterall, this is the demographic that has paid money to watch Transformers movies in the theater. I'd argue that this is more of a lifestyle issue than a gender issue. I have a few wild child girlfriends who get new phones every season because they're constantly busting 'em up.

As anyone who's hung out with me for two seconds knows, I always keep my phone in my bra on vibrate. It's like incubating a baby chick: I keep it somewhere warm, soft, and safe. I always know where it is so I never miss a call. The only time things get dicey is if I forget it's there at the end of the night so when I whip off my bra, it can take a tumble to the floor. But, my bedroom is carpeted so no problems yet. *fingers crossed*

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Story Time: What Would A Guy (Or Girl) Have To Do To Make You React Like This?

Right off the bat, I can think of four things:

1. Photographs his food before he eats it
2. Brags about not owning a television
3. Gets irritated when I run into people I know when we're out together
4. Stops and checks his cell phone when we're on the dance floor 

You?

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Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Will Not Offer You Some Of This Delicious Snack

Lay off me, I'm STAAAARVING!

OH MY GOD, THESE CASHEWS WERE THE BEST GAS STATION PURCHASE EVER.

Normally, I'm like, "Damn, should I get cashews? Nah, not this time. They're too pricey." Seriously, it's like $2+ for a relatively small bag of cashews. Nuts are expensive. Usually, the highest level of snack I'll purchase is the large bag of Combos.

So to celebrate treating myself to this serious roadtrip snack splurge, I quickly wolf down the entire bag.

In front of you.

Ahhh...shit.

I'm sorry, but if we ever dated, I'd probably forget to share my delicious snack with you. Sadly, I wish this applied to just cashews, but that's not the case. You can add movie popcorn and the side of fries at dinner to this list as well. It's not that I don't WANT to share, it's that I forget. I slip into the "food zone" and start snacking away. Next thing I know, there's an empty bag that formerly held cashews in front of me and you in the passenger seat with that look on your face.

I feel like I'm not alone on this; I think it's a dude thing. I've never sat down with one of my guy friends at lunch and offered him some of my fries or said, "Hey, you gotta try a bite of this sandwich." It's just not what we do. My female friends and co-workers don't even blink at splitting lunch or sharing a snack. Rather than shoulder the blame for this, I'll go ahead and burden the entire male gender instead.

So, while I can promise you that I will try to remember to share, your best bet is to get your own bag of cashews. And that makes me a bad boyfriend.

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Phrases I SAY That Guys Wanna Stab In The Face: "I'm So Lucky That I Met You"

Fuck my luck (FML)

We'll be in staring into each other's eyes, totally psyched about our newfound love when I'll confide, "I'm so lucky that I met you." I'll lean in for a kiss and he'll get a panicked look in his eyes. Apparently, he did not want to be "me lucky charm" as leprechauns say.

I'm not sure why my declaration of good fortune bummed him out, but it has. No guy has ever said, "Awwww, babe! I'm so lucky that I met you too" back to me. Not ever. Not once.

This phrase is like if a black cat walked under a ladder then broke a mirror when it was on the 13th floor to me; I've cursed myself by telling him what a blessing he's been.

In fact, in a cruel twist. he'll usually end it pretty soon after I acknowledge how much I love that "it" is even happening. I was just trying to be cute and say something sweet! Dubbayouteeeff?

Now, I'm terrified about mentioning luck at all because it's brought me nothing but bad luck to acknowledge my good luck. I feel like my life is a stanza in the Jabberwocky; it makes no fucking sense.

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Sneaky Bonerkiller: Guys That Worship Elvis Costello

Pigeon toes on a grown man

You know John Cusack's character in High Fidelity? He was an Elvis Costello fan. Hank Moody? Him too. I have no idea why listening "This Year's Model" can turn a man into a dating nightmare--I'm still lobbying for the medical community to do further research--but it does.

On the surface, I would think that guys who love Elvis Costello would be a perfect match made for me: they're usually smart, snarky, and wickedly funny. They relate to EC's witty, acerbic lyrics. That's cool. I get it.

However, after you spend some solo time with him, his trashbaginess is revealed. One your first (and only) date, he will possibly:

• Lean and tell you that he thinks that the waitress is cute  
• Go on and on about his ex-girlfriend and what a whore she was
• Hit on your best friend when you leave the room to powder your nose
• Explain that he usually only dates 23-year-old half-Asian yoga instructors (uh, okay)

He's like Glenn Gulia but skinnier and with hotter hair. Ladies, don't be fooled by his glasses, rad shoes, and impeccable music taste! After hearing "Pump It Up" a dozen times, he turns into a total freak-a-leek. He'll think that he's the most interesting guy on the planet, but he's just an insufferable douche. To paraphrase Milli Vanilli, "Girl you know it's true."

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Things I'm Terrible At: Understanding What His Job Is

He's explained his job responsibilities to me in detail, but I still have no clue what he does. When he talks about it, he uses words like "product integration", "assessment", and "multi-platform coordination." My eyes glazed over just typing that.

Here's what I do know:

• He works in an office on the outskirts of town
• He has a desk
• He has a boss
• He has meetings
• He attends training sessions every six months
• He has co-workers 
• He wears nice pants to work

I feel like even if I were to shadow him at work for a day, I'd still have no clue what he did. I'd be like, "So, you check your email, refill your coffee constantly, then dick around on messageboards every few hours when you get bored, right?"

And, he'd say, "Yeah, pretty much. And, we have cake about once a week."

Besides those things, I have no idea what else it involves. I couldn't even pinpoint what field he works in. It's seems vaguely medical? Maybe it's tied to Internet commerce? Or maybe it's more in the development field? Is that a thing? I don't even know.

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I Love Love Love Guys That Give Me A Buck to Pick Out Songs On The Jukebox

I gotta hand it to him, the way he just tucked a dollar in my hand and said, "Go play some songs for me," made me want to:

a. Buy a Trapper Keeper on eBay
b. Buy a Bic ballpoint pen
c. Wait for the Trapper Keeper to come in the mail
d. Open the package up
e. Write his initials, a plus sign, then my initials using the ballpoint pen on the Trapper Keeper
f. Draw a heart around our initials
g. Clutch the Trapper Keeper against my chest and sigh heavily

Forget the Dollar Value Menu at Mickey D's: this right here is the real value deal. For only a dollar and a simple request, he gets to be in my daydreams for the next week. It was fun to pick out songs that I thought he'd like. And, it was fun to come back to my seat and see his face light up each time one of "my/his" songs came on. It was fun all around. Gimme another buck! I wanna do it again!

If you had a buck to spend to impress your date, what three songs would you pick?

[In case you're wondering: I picked "1969" by The Stooges, "What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love, and Understanding" by Elvis Costello, and "Fade to Black" by Metallica. Btdubs, the alternate title of this post should be Boxerdropper: I Am AWESOME At Spending Your Dollar On The Jukebox.]

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Mix Masters: Alexis' Secret Hippiness of T-Pain Summer Mix

My homie Alexis is hanging out in Woodstock, New York for the summer. She's gettin' free up there with a revolving door of guests dropping by to have some crucial hangs in the woods. I imagine her having late-night chillouts by a bonfire, nursing microbrews, and listening to this mix on repeat. Only Alexis can get away with seamlessly transitioning from T-Pain to Steely Dan. Well done, girl. She is coordinating the 2nd Street Festival in Northern Liberties on Saturday, August 1st. Go. While I'm hurling imperatives at you, download this mix HERE.

Track listing:

1. Woods - Bon Iver
2. Bartender (feat. Akon) - T-Pain
3. Peg - Steely Dan
4. I Know It's True - James Brown & The Famous Flames
5. New Age - Sleepy Sun
6. Woodstock - Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young
7. Sweet Jane - Mott The Hoople
8. Summer Breeze - Seals and Crofts
9. Didn't I - Darondo
10. Sweet Virginia - The Rolling Stones
11. Tunnelvision - Here We Go Magic
12. What a Fool - Believes The Doobie Brothers
13. Season of the Witch - Donovan
14. Julia - The Very Best
15. Spanish Stroll - Mink De Ville
16. Dear God - The Roots
17. Sweet Thang - Shuggie Otis

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I Love Love Love Guys Who Are Cool About Periods

It ain't no thang but a chicken wing on a string to him that I get my period. He's so unfazed about my monthly friend it's ridic. Honestly, I think he gets a kick out of it.

Every month, he tries to come up with some hysterical description of my period and tries to outdo himself every time. So far, he's said that my:

• Hoohah is crying blood tears
• Cave is awash in cherry Slurpee
• Love box is puking lava
• Red velvet cupcake is leaking
• Lady parts are re-enacting scenes from The Shining 

After dating total Squeemish Stans who'd do a full-on body shudder if I even so much as mentioned menstruation, it's refreshing to have a guy be laid-back about the whole thing.

He doesn't flinch when I toss pads in the shopping cart. He high-fives me when I tell him that I have cramps. He's like if Midol were a human; he makes me feel better about the whole thing. Ladies take note: THIS is the kind of guy you should marry. He'll be a buddy to your monthly curse.

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Be Honest: You Got That Shirt For Free, Didn't You?

It's bright blue and has some lame graphic swiped from an ancient clip art folder printed on the front. And, there's so much text crammed in on the back that it's giving me a headache trying to figure out what kind of event he attended.  He must have gotten that shirt for free. There's no way he paid money for it.

Was it a door prize at a company picnic? Did he get it in a tote bag at a convention? Was it shot to him from a t-shirt cannon at a company retreat? That shirt is the Khloe Kardashian of the shirt world; it's just not as hot as the other options available.

Whenever I get free t-shirts, they are usually too boxy and way too big so they get tossed into the trash bin straight away. Besides, I hate wearing labels or any kind of text on my clothes. But, strangely, he seems to not only delight in the free shirt, but actually wears them out in his leisure time. Clearly, he is the target demographic for free shirts.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it's not a tank top or a polo with the collar popped, but as far as lame t-shirts go, this guy seems to choose the most lamest of them all. Is it too much to ask for just a plain piece of cloth free of bullshit to clothe his chest? Sometimes, I think that it is.

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Bonerkiller: Inappropriate Fancy Dancers

We're gettin' down to "American Girl" at some dirty dance night when suddenly he takes my hand, raises it over my head and twirls me around. I laughed nervously in a What The Fuck Are You Doing kind of way. After two spins, he extended his arm and wound me back towards his chest like a yo-yo.

Then, he put his arm around my waist and tried to dip me. I was wearing a mini-skirt; I wasn't dip-ready! I pulled my hand away to tug at my skirt because I was pretty sure that I was flashing the entire place.

I feel like guys who don't know how to dance pull this Fred Astaire shit out of nowhere. Aside from doing the white-man-overbite, inappropriate fancy dancers are my least favorite dance partners. This is how awkward fifth graders dance at Bar Mitzvahs, not how tipsy adults dance to Tom Petty.

We are not ballroom dancers. I'm not a ballerina in a jewelry box. I'm not a wedding cake topper come to life. Please stop. 

8 Comments

Bonerkiller: Budgers

George, pushing everyone out of the way like a total dick

I had finally scored some solo time with my crush backstage at an event recently. We were walking towards the steps together to watch the band play on the main stage. I was in a great mood.  

So I was shocked, nay, DISMAYED when he scooted in front of me before I took my first step. My dream guy straight-up shoved me out of the way. I was horrified.

Stunned, I stood there in disbelief. Am I wearing a potato sack? Are we in a race? Were we on Supermarket Sweep and competing for a cash prize? It was one of the unsexiest things he could have done.

He doesn't have to lay his trench coat down as I cross over a puddle, but I expected at least some manners from the guy. I looked down on him--well, I would anyway; he's 5'5--but now I looked down on his behavior. To say that my boner was killed would be the understatement of the year.

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Happy 4th of July

Gonna drive a big truck and kick a little ass.

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Oh No He Di'int Just Bite My Lip

Ouch, dude!

Pro tip: If I yell "ouch!" and push you away while we are smooching, it's not a good thing. It's strange that I even have articulate that, but after he chowed down on my mouth like I was an Old Country Buffet, I knew I had to speak up.

I'm not sure how he confused my lower lip with a chew toy, but I'm in pain now. I have no idea where he got the idea that biting my lip out of nowhere would be a sexy thing to do. I don't know if he saw it in a movie or his last girlfriend was made out of bubble gum or what, but his chomping down on my pucker was the worst thing that's ever happened to me (that night).

For future reference, my lips are not the following things:

• A chicken wing
• A Twizzler
• Beef jerky
• A hamburger
• A burrito
• A Turkey leg
• A tootsie roll
• Cheese fries
• A corndog
• A churro

Please don't treat them as if they are.

Maybe he was possessed by the ghost of a Civil War soldier who needed something to gnaw on as his leg was amputated. Maybe he really really liked my lip gloss and wanted to snap into it like a Slim Jim. I have no idea. All I know is that I have a very sore lip now, no thanks to him. Frown.

5 Comments