Hey Homies

I'm not sure if you've noticed, but as I write this, Shmitten Kitten now has 977 Facebook fans. You can see over there on the right, in that handy widget. However, since I REALLY like round numbers, I want to push that number over the 1,000 fans mark. There's something about that comma in there that I wanna have in my life.

Once we reach 1,000 fans, I'll post a super special exclusive mix for y'all to download on our Facebook page as a way to thank everyone for their support. Again, this mix will ONLY be available to our FB fans, so get on it. You'll dig the mix, I swear. Girl Scout's honor.

So, go ahead and like us. Tell your friends to like us. If you've already liked us and already told your friends to like us, then do nothing. You're golden. As a thank you for reading this, I will now post a series of random funny pictures:

[Update: We WERE able to reach our goal. I just posted my '60s soul mix up on our Facebook page as a thank you present. Enjoy it! Thanks from the bottom of my heart. You guys are the bessssst. xoxo]

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Neglected Backyard Patio

Tramp stamp! Haha.

There are several things in his house that I want nothing to do with. I'd rather kiss a cockroach then step foot in his musty basement. I'd rather eat a bowl of scabs than smell the inside of his microwave. But, what really sends chills down my spine is stepping foot outside onto his neglected backyard patio.

It's not even that big. We're talking, what, like ten square feet? I have no idea how he managed to corral so many terrifying items in one place. It's like a 1993 garage sale barfed out here.

For one thing, opening the door to get outside takes all of my upper body strength. For some reason, that door is a total motherfucker that is heavy and gets stuck easily. It's as if the patio itself is telling me to stay away, like it's a teenager that doesn't want his parents coming into his room because it reeks of pot. It knows.

Once I bust through the door, I'll stand still as I survey the damage. It's a graveyard of smashed beer bottles, dented cat food cans and mangled tricycles. Why are there tricycles in here? He doesn't even have a kid! There's a metal trash bin that even Oscar the Grouch would turn his nose up at. It's filled to the brim with garbage and the lid is hanging on top of the heap like a dirty, stiff beret. There's a doll's arm and a deflated dog's toy tossed in the dirt. A couch cushion is on the ground like a war casualty. GOD FORBID I'm wearing flip-flops because who knows what kind of toxic liquids my toes would squish into.

Did Britney's "I'm A Slave 4 U" video take place in here because this feels like a third-world slum. This patio makes Children of Men look like Couple's Retreat. I wouldn't be surprised if you told me that this is where monkey pox originated because it feels like a cauldron of disease out here. Basically, I'm in District 9.

There's a rusty shovel leaning against the fence leering at me like the bikers at the bar Pee Wee Herman walks into. It's eyeing me up and down like I shouldn't be "in these parts" in the first place. I'll spin around on my heels and scurry back inside. Fuck his neglected backyard patio foreverrrrrr!

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I Love Love Love City Ambassadors

From our homeboy, Zack, a traveling man who digs it when a girl can show him the inside scoop to the best parts of her town. Take it away, Zack:

12 hours and 800 miles lie behind me. All I want right now is a back massage and a soft bed. I stop off in some little dive to clog my arteries one more time. Once you show up, my dreams of slipping into a two-day coma vanish. We call your type ambassadors, the ones who know absolutely everything about the area: The best food, the best entertainment, all the coolest spots to hang out. And you’re not about to let someone pass through without getting the whole experience, even if your town’s only claim to fame is meeting the man who met Andy Griffith (I’m talking to you Pavo, GA). Sure, I’m sore and tired, but I suppose I can sleep next week. Tonight, I’ll follow you anywhere.

Maybe you’re the waitress who spends all night sitting at my table, practically ignoring your other customers. I just stopped in for a quick bite, yet here we are when your shift ends heading to a late-night café that just happens to make the world’s greatest tarts. Or maybe you’re just another patron who saw me sitting at the bar reading a book and came over to say hi. Next thing I know, I’m halfway across town at a party listening to an awesome local band. Or perhaps you’re an old friend that I haven’t seen in years. Two phone calls later, you’ve whipped up an impromptu game of Manhunt in the city park. When the cops show up to chase us off, it is like we’re back in college all over again.

Ask any road warrior about his past trips and watch his eyes light up. These random encounters are what keep us driving, pushing through the last 100 miles to discover what lies just beyond the high beams. So for all of you city ambassadors who show us a glimpse of home from 1,000 miles away, I tip my hap to you.

I used to have friends' bands stay with with me all the time when they were on tour and I'd get a kick out of taking them to my favorite spots around town. I'd shuffle them to my favorite diner after their show and giggle over grilled cheeses. I'd file 'em into my favorite coffee spot for morning bagels and a coffee fuel-up. It was so much fun showing my buddies the best parts of my town. Thanks, Zack, for writing in. Radical!

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Pics and Vids: The Boob Apron

Check out this "bonerkilling tit-kerchief."

via

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I Love Love Love Guys That Wear Bowties

Shiiiiiiit. Boy, you lookin' fiiiiiine. That little bowtie you have on there? Damn, Papi. *bites knuckle like Lenny in Laverne and Shirley* There's a reason Chippendale dancers all wear bowties, because it connotes class. You know that. You get it. Oh God, I wanna mess your hair up. I wanna nibble on your earlobe. I want to give you a bowjob because you're basically wearing neck lingerie. Rawr!

WOULD!

PS: He gets extra points if he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger as he asks for my phone number.

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Awwww Shit! I Totally Saw Him Take A Picture Of Me When He Thought I Wasn't Looking

What's up, paparazzi? I was talking to a friend when I saw the flash out of the corner of my eye. He totally took a picture of me on the sly.

"Did you just take a picture of me?" I asked.

He shook his head no, but his wide smile gave him away. I watched him review his handiwork when he thought I wasn't looking, his face illuminated by his camera's bright playback screen. He seemed pleased as he hovered over one particular shot for a few seconds. Then, he slipped his camera into his pocket and resumed drinking his beer like nothing had happened.

But, something had happened. You could tell because his chest was puffed out, like a birdwatcher who just snapped a picture of a rare bird. I played along and didn't bring it up. But, he knows I know. And, now I know that he likes me. It's official.

Here's the thing, this only works when you know the guy and have a little baby crush on him anyway. Then, this sneaky move is adorable. It's not a full-on stalker thing to do, but it has a dash of stalker to it. Just a dab. Sometimes, that can be a good thing. 

The good news: He's not going to do anything with the picture. He's not going to upload it. He's not going to tag me on it. He's not going to show his friends or print it out and paste it up in a locker. He's just going to have it in his camera like a secret. I made his camera cut! YESSSSSSS! 

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Bonerkiller: Bathroom Door Openers

I appreciate that he's comfortable enough with me that he thinks it's okay to open the bathroom door when I'm in the bathroom but it's NOT. The door is closed for a reason, whether I'm popping a pimple (gasp!) or actually on the toilet (double gasp!) or whatever. This is not the time to open the door and carry on a conversation.

Maybe I'm quickly slappin' on some lip gloss and I want to spring out of the bathroom like "TA-DA!" (my lips are poppin'). If he barges in mid-application, it kinda ruins the entrance for me. All I'm asking for is a minute or so of privacy to freshen up.

One might think that the simple solution would be to lock the door. But when I do, he thinks it's funny to pound on it and ask what I'm doing like a whiny five-year-old. Sometimes he even pretends he's a zombie scratching at the door yelling "braiinnnss!" Try applying mascara on the toilet and fighting off an intruder at the same time! It's impossible. It's gotten to the point where I'm strategically sneaking off to the bathroom when his favorite TV show is on so I know he won't bother me for a few moments.

I should mention that the bathroom in his warehouse apartment has walls that only go up about 9 feet even though the ceiling is much higher than that, so he can basically hear me every time I tinkle. One time he climbed on a ladder to look over the walls and said "Boo!" and thought it was soooooo hysterical. Ha fucking ha. Next time he's getting a plunger to the face.

What is it about guys that think it's so hilarious to interrupt a girl in the powder room? I don't need another younger brother! What is it that they think we're doing in there? Does he not realize that he's turning my 90 second beauty routine into a much longer ordeal? Is it pure curiosity? Or is it really just that much fun to annoy me?

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Pics and Vids: Shlooby Kitten #2

I'm seriously cracking myself up with these. You can see more of 'em on our Facebook page. And, if you wanna see 'em all, check out the Shlooby Kitten Tumblr page I just created. I'll post more up on there soon.

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I Can't Fucking Believe How Nice I Want To Be To Him

FUCK HIM FOREVER FOR MAKING ME WANT TO BE SWEET TO HIM! It's like he flipped some switch in me where I want to ensure that he is the most fucking comfortable, happy person on this planet.

I want to scream in that shitstain's face because I asked if he wanted to borrow my hoodie in case he got cold. It makes me want to claw my face off that I offered him half of my delicious cookie.

When I fucking asked him how his mutherfuckin' coffee was, I was genuinely fucking concerned that it was made to his goddam liking. Is it too fucking hot? Is it too fucking cold? I JUST WANT HIM TO ENJOY HIS FUCKING COFFEE! FUCK EVERYTHING AND EVERYBODY IN THIS STARBUCKS BECAUSE I GENUINELY CARE ABOUT HIS ANSWER!

He's adorable, smart, and funny and he needs a swift elbow to his vas deferens for making me want him to have the last cheese fry in the basket. (No, really. Take it. It's all yours.) He needs his scrotum run over by a fucking tractor because I think it'd be cute if we ate a spaghetti like the fucking mutts in Lady and the Tramp. I'd even nudge the meatball over to him so he could have it.

FUUUUUUUUUCK!!!

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Pics and Vids: Shlooby Kitten

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Party Time! Excellent!

You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll hurl.

On Monday, Sept. 13th, we're showing Wayne's World at the Balcony of the Troc. Exsqueeze me? Baking powder? It's true! DJ Goy Toy (aka me) will be spinning before and after the movie. Get ready for some math:

• $3 gets you in and goes towards a drink
• Arrive between 6:30 and 7pm and get a FREE beer and a bag of popcorn
• Doors open at 6:30pm and the movie starts at 8pm
• Sorry youngsters, it's 21+

Click on the image for the Facebook invite. SCHWIIINNNNG!

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Reader Submitted Bonergrower: Outdoorsy Women

From Zack, who loves a girl that can be at one in nature:

When I told her about my impending trip, a short four-day hike alone through part of the Smokies, I never expected that she'd want to come along. She thought I was joking. We're talking true camping here, not that "sleeping in a truck bed at a KOA" silliness kind of camping that always ended badly with girlfriends. But she was excited when she realized I was serious.

She survived the first day, an impressive feat considering she had never been on this sort of camping trip. I was relieved to see she'd followed my advice and wore a pair of broken-in shoes and packed lightly. And it was cute when she'd practically leap into my arms every time a leaf rustled the first night.

I suppose I may have been showing off just a tad when I started a fire with some sticks instead of using the magnesium striker or waterproof matches I'd brought, but watching her swoon at it made me puff up like a peacock (even after I burned my hand on a tinder bundle while laughing because she called me "Lord of the Flames").

Over the next few days, there were some rough patches: insects, an unexpected thunderstorm, and far too many copperheads for my liking. But what I remember most are the showers together under a waterfall, watching through the tent flaps when a deer wandered out of the mist and into camp early one morning, all of the great times. None of these were new experiences for me, but they sure felt new with her.

By the end of the trip, she could make a decent fire, identify some plants, and knew how to navigate a few dangerous situations. And she was actually having fun. Walking out of the woods the final day, I saw a side of her I'd never seen before: strong, tough, able to handle anything that was thrown at her. And, it was a side I wanted to see more of. How about we head down to the Keys next weekend and swim with sharks?

Zack, this is adorable. Nicely done. I feel like this is stuff that normal, well-adjusted adults do. How cute! Honestly, I'm more of a "city mouse" than a "country mouse," but after reading this, I gotta say that you make the whole thing sound pretty romantic. I also gotta hand it to you because you make roughing it sound like watching a four minute montage in a rom com movie. Add some s'mores to the pile and hell, even I'm ready to load up on insect repellent and canned beans and trek off the grid for a few days. Who needs the Internet, decent cell phone reception, and access to indoor plumbing? Not me! (J/K. I totally need those things because I'm prissy.)

Guys, anything you love about girls? Tell us at hi@shmittenkitten.com. I wanna hear about it. 

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Bonergrower: His Spot-On Michael McDonald Impression

Look at this pseudo-Doobie Brother go to town! He's belting out Michael McDonald's trademark honeyed gruff croon like he was born to do it. He's so good that if I close my eyes, I can practically hear Mr. McDonald's beard rustling in the wind. Am I in my living room or am I at a concert by the only Grammy-award winner who happens to resemble a Husky dog? I can't even tell at this point.

He's totally going for it. He's even hitting the high notes! "What a fool BELIEVEEEEEEEES!"

Impersonating Michael McDonald is probably one of the easier impressions a guy can do which is great news because it's also one of the funniest ones to watch.

Fuck a singing high school: watching him belt out these yacht rock classics is the real glee up in here.

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I Love Love Love Guys That Have Elaborate Secret Handshakes With Their Best Friend

We're standing by the pool sipping our beers when his best friend walked up to us. Wordlessly, they launched into an elaborate handshake that involved devil horns, fist bumping, and a move resembling jazz hands. It ended with a big bang-type gesture that involved some shoulder coordination and a windmill behind-the-back high five.

Without missing a beat, he turned his attention back me and continued our conversation as if nothing happened. "So, yeah, as I was saying, "Maneater" is totally my favorite Hall and Oates song. I don't care if it seems played out. That song is undeniable."

"Dude! That was the most amazing secret handshake I've ever seen." I had to pick my mouth up off the floor because I was in total awe. How long did it take for them to master it? Did they practice for hours a day like they're in the Jackson 5? Did they work out the choreography together or did one of them take the lead on that? SO MANY QUESTIONS!

"Oh, that? Haha. I guess." He shrugged it off like of course he'd have an elaborate secret handshake with his best friend. I mean, who doesn't?

"Seriously, you should teach inner city kids how to do secret handshakes like that and have someone make a documentary about it because you basically just krumped. At the least, you should compete on a regional secret handshake circuit. It doesn't even have to a recognized league, you should compete in an underground one where you'd have tournaments in abandoned warehouses or some shit. You'd battle other teams but then in the end come together to fight a common enemy."

He laughed, but I could tell that his wheels were spinning about how to make this league a reality. Or maybe he just wanted to grab another drink before the keg got kicked. Either way, this guy ruuuuuules.

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I Love Love Love Guys That Can Throw Food In The Air And Catch It In Their Mouth

We're walking down the street chomping on some fresh blueberries when he popped one in the air and caught it in his mouth.

STOP THE PRESSES! I've been kicking it with a food popper this whole time and didn't even know it?

"Do it again! Do it again!" I cheered, barely containing my excitement.

He smiled and grabbed a few more blueberries from the package. Always a showman, he tossed each one higher into the air than the one before. Then, after catching them all in his gullet, he flashed me a smile with bits of blueberry all over his teeth. It was adorable.

Um, I had NO IDEA that this guy was so talented. I'm basically hanging out with a circus seal in a plaid shirt and Vans sneakers. Is this guy a cartoon? Is he Huck Finn? Who knows what other kinds of snack foods he can pop into his mouth? Cheetos? Bugles? Popcorn? Gummi Bears? The possibilities are endless!

He's a crystal ball and when I look into his eyes, I see nothing but fun for miles and miles ahead.

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Boxerdropper: I Will Watch A Movie About Surfing With Very Little Protest

Not to toot my own movie-watching horn here, but I think it's pretty awesome of me to indulge his request to watch a movie about surfing when I have about zero interest in the subject matter. Endless Summer, Step Into Liquid, Riding Giants: I've seen 'em all. On his couch. Like I give a shit about some dude surfing a wave.

Sure, I'll scan through his DVDs and suggest we watch The Big Lebowski or Back to the Future for the zillionth time, but when he pulls out Endless Summer II and insists on watching it, I'll shrug and say okay.

I'll even pretend to get a little upset when some famous surfer dies after an epic wipeout. Boohoo. Huge waves can be dangerous: I got the memo, every single surfing movie out there! Mother Nature can be a cruel bitch and surfers walk the line every time they go out into the ocean, got it.

Good luck finding a girl to tolerate a more boring genre of film. I won't roll my eyes, cross my arms and huff loudly after two hours of monotone narration spoken over repetitive footage of waves. Not me! I'll play along and marvel at the ripcurls. What girl gives a fuck about ripcurls? None! All I'm saying is that he better appreciate it because that's what I'm bringing to the girlfriend table.

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I Love Love Love Foreign Boys

I said GOOD DAY!

As a full-time working girl, the only way I can distinguish between the seasons is that there are more sweaty people on the subway in the summer and it takes me longer to get my double Americano in Center City because tourists with Liberty Bell schwag are holding up the lines. But with the nuisances of summer in the city come a fabulous perk: foreign dudes. They're cute, a bit clueless, and wonderfully temporary.

So what if he's got quirky teeth, smells kinda off, rolls his socks up and is sporting a Fila sweatshirt tied around his waist over his belly bag? Did you hear his accent? It's almost enough to let every bonerkiller he does slide. Plus he uses cute phrases like "refreshingly beautiful" and "you are zee sweetest woman in my lifes." Swooooon.

And, a foreign tourist is the perfect date. He's completely fascinated by my mediocre life story. He'll want to know everything about my American life, my family, my job, my friends. He'll eagerly share stories about his life back home and is incredibly romantic. Since he's not familiar with the city, ANY idea I have for an outing will be considered brilliant. I know loads of Philly boys that wouldn't be caught dead making corny poses at LOVE Park, but the mention of it sends my foreign boy spouting poems about my intelligence and beauty as he pulls out his camera.

Sure, he might just want a visa or bragging rights to his friends back home, but I couldn't care less. This international hottie is well traveled, well mannered and, well, HOT. Plus he speaks, like, 10 different languages fluently, and while English might not be one of them, he still manages to sweep me off my feet.

The best part is that when he finally leaves at summer's end, I can daydream about visiting him abroad. Realistically a relationship won't work, but at least I know I will NEVER run into him and his new girlfriend around town when I'm hungover or sweaty from the gym. EVER. La vie est belle!

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I Feel I Bummed Him Out When I Sent My Dinner Back

Just eat your meal even though it tastes like a bowl of Band-Aids

After one forkful, I frowned. "I don't like this. I'm gonna send it back."

"Please don't. It can't be that bad." He shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"It's terrible!" I took another bite. After one chew, I spit it out into my napkin half because I'm dramatic and half because it really did taste like dog food. "Oh god, this is disgusting. That's it, I'm sending it back. Where's our waitress?" I craned my neck looking around the room for her.

"Well, I can't be here for this. I'm going outside when she comes over." He picked up his napkin from his lap, wiped his mouth and placed it on the table but he might as well have thrown in the towel for our entire date. 

"You don't have to leave! It's not that big of a deal. I'm sure people send food back all the time." I can't believe he was getting so worked up about this! His face tightened. He looked like I was forcing him to participate in a bank robbery. Buddy, I'm not making you wax a sensitive area on your body; I'm just trying to enjoy my meal. Chill.

"No, really. I can't stand watching people send their food back. She's totally gonna hate us now. Great."

"A) She's not going to hate us. B) This food is terrible and I don't want to eat it. C) The customer is always right. Seriously, stay put." I caught the waitress' eye. She walked over quickly. 

"Everything okay?" She looked concerned.

I explained that I wanted to return my dinner because the food was inedible. He winced when I said the word "inedible." After she took my plate away, I said to him, "There, was that so bad?"

He didn't say anything. He just glared at me. So, yeah, I feel I bummed him out when I sent my dinner back.

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I Love Love Love Whistlers

I am delighted when a guy can whistle. It's a total Zippidy DO da in my book. To be clear, I'm not talking about guys that whistle at me, like strangers sexually harassing me on a street (That's a Zippidy do DON'T.) I'm talking about guys that can whistle a tune like their mouth is a whimsical little musical instrument.

Confession: I cannot whistle. I've only been able to (sorta) whistle once in my life and it was when I had braces in jr. high school. But, it sounded more like air being let out of a balloon than anything remotely classified as fun or musical. Sad trombone noise.

So, imagine the exhilaration I felt when he whistled a little ditty out of nowhere while we were waiting for the train. "Whistle some more," I demanded. He happily obliged, this time with more pizazz. He zipped up and down the musical scale like it [wasn't] no thang but a chicken wing on a string.

I've never heard such whistling mastery. I've kissed that mouth before, but I had no idea what hidden talents it had. What a thrill! (Just so you know how I classify thrills, I also think when the dude at the cafe waves the 7 cents off my $2.07 iced coffee order so it's an even two bucks is thrilling. I clearly have a low thrill threshold.)

Now, he whistles all the time and my face lights up like a Lite-Brite on a Jumbotron on the Vegas strip at night. Well, shit. I'm kicking it a human kazoo; who wouldn't be thrilled?

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Well, That Is Some Bullshit Hanging From His Rearview Mirror

What kind of grown man affixes something on his rearview mirror? What is this thing, a necklace? It looks like a beaded lanyard that an old woman would use to hang her reading glasses from. It's hard to ignore it because it keeps banging against the dashboard at every turn he makes.

There's no way he paid money for this. He must've found it on the floor and his buddy put it on his mirror as a joke. Tell me that this thing is a joke.

Where did he get it? Did he mug a Zoltar and is showcasing this chain as a trophy? Did he swipe it from Janet Jackson's face in the "Runaway" video?

If he HAD to drape something over his rearview mirror, I could maybe understand an air freshener. I don't know who cares that much about the way the interior of their car smells but whatever. I'd even understand if he hung a pair fuzzy dice. I could kinda see it if he was an old skool rockabilly guy with full sleeves on both arms and a bitchin' vintage car.

But this is a beige Honda and this guy is about as edgy as Blue's Clues. I'm sorry, but there's no need for car jewelry here. Oh god, it's like his mirror has a belly chain. It's like his car got its eyebrow pierced in 1997 and still wears the thing because it thinks it's cool. His car is basically Fergie from Black Eyed Peas. LAME.

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Quick Rant: Make Up Your Mind!

From our reader Caitlin, who just wants a dude to have an opinion about something at some point.

The biggest problem in my relationship is that we can never decide what to do. Usually it goes something like this:

"What do you want to do today?"
"I don't know, what do YOU want to do?"
"I don't know, you choose."
"I always choose, you choose for once."
"Let's do whatever you want."
"WHY CAN'T YOU EVER CHOOSE WHAT TO DO?"

RAR RAR ARGH ARGH!!!!

Ok, I get it. He wants to make me happy by letting me figure out plans for Saturday afternoon, because he things that MY choosing will make me happy. Well you know what, pal? Him choosing what to do would make me happiest of all. He should get off his lazy butt and suggest some putt-putt or a movie for crying out loud.

I dated a guy like this once. It wasn't a problem because I'm usually the one who has strong feelings about anything to do. When I'm in the mood for Bloody Marys, you better believe I'm going to suggest it. If I feel like playing quizzo, you best believe that I'm gonna ask him to come play with me. If I feel like flopping around on my couch cracking up at the Mighty Boosh, well, you can imagine what happens next.

This system worked out for us for exactly five weeks until one day I had no idea what I felt like doing. When I asked him what he felt like doing, he just shrugged and looked at me. I was like Nirvana, here I am now entertain me. He couldn't. I got bored. So, I dumped him. There were other reasons I swung the ax, but his inability to think of anything fun for us to do was Exhibit F on a long list of offenses.

The moral of the story? We really need to finish our Hunting and Snagging: A Field Guide to Dating so that this won't be a problem for people anymore. Think of the relationships we'd save! Think of the potential fun Philly could be having! This needs to happen.

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: Teeny Tiny Bathrooms

I have no idea how a grown human can use this teensy weensy bathroom. Everything in here is tiny. The sink is the size of a child's shoe and the mirror over the sink is the size of a Pop-Tart.

If we were in the roaring '20s, fun-loving collegiates would see how many people they could squish in here for fun. Clark Kent would use this bathroom to change into Superman.

But for me to pop in and do a #1, it's a nightmare. I'm basically peeing in a dollhouse. One knee is hitting the sink and the other knee is slammed against the edge of the bathtub. One elbow is smashing into the wall and the other elbow is tangled in a shower curtain. As Tobias Funke would say, it's ass to ankles back here!

Clearly, the name "bathroom" is a misnomer because there is no way that this should be classified as a full room; it's more of a closet. A bathcloset. It's so tight in here that just walking the one foot from the toilet to the sink feels like I'm in a Tokyo subway car during rush hour.

And, I have to go into the hallway to brush my teeth because there is no place for my arms to operate in this cubic foot of terribleness. I'm inadvertently doing the Hokey Pokey dance just trying to get my pearly whites white. And, that just makes me sad.

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Quick Rant: Dude, Don't Call Me "Baby"

From our reader Rachel, who ain't your baby:

The corner is a comfy seat. What's the fuss about?

I'm on a date but something isn't quite right. Maybe the beer is a little too warm, maybe the bar is a little too dark or maybe his laugh sounds less like a man's and more like a retarded donkey's. Or like Ronnie's from Jersey Shore. Same thing.

I like him, but I don't LIKE like him. Ya get me? But, he's a nice enough guy so I'll stick it out for an hour or so before I text one of my friends to call and fake an emergency. "What? Your unicorn got run over by a truck and you need me to help you get it back to the rainbow? I'll be right there!" Sorry kid, I gotta go.

Then he says it. "Baby, get me another beer." Umm, ex-CUUUUSE me? Baby? I'm all for nicknames and such, but the only people that get to call me Baby are the people that I want to call me Baby. When I hear it casually exiting his mouth when the feelings I have for him are equal to the ones I have for anything related to Perez Hilton (i.e. NONE), I'm out of there faster than if had shown up in a bedazzled Ed Hardy shirt.

To quote Andy Sachs when she runs out on that superhot editor in The Devil Wears Prada, "I'm not your baby."

Come on. You knew I had to run a Dirty Dancing picture with this. It was between that and a picture of TLC performing their powerful anthem taking on fertility clinics and day care rates, "Baby Baby Baby." That's what it's about, right?

Anything you wanna get off your chest? Drop a line to hi@shmittenkitten.com and let us know.

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I Love Love Love Barbacks

I'm sitting at the bar, sipping my IPA and watching him scurry around the place like he's doing a physical challenge on Double Dare. He's snapping up beer bottles, stacking pint glasses, and weaving between patrons without breaking a sweat. He's like a bumble bee genius on speed and holy hell, is that hot.

The faster he cuts limes, the faster my heart beats. Long story short: I'm in love. Red cartoon hearts radiate out of my green eyes, which are fixated on him.

There is something about a hot barback that stimulates a primal nerve center in the back of my brain. This is the sexiest thing a guy carrying a plastic tub of ice can do!

The best part is that he's totally oblivious to me eyebanging him. This is terrific news because I can stare at him without feeling too weird about it. In fact, his oblivion is a blessing. I'm basically staring at the David scrubbing shot glasses at a dive bar.

Oh shit! He's coming over to talk to me. I bat my eyelashes. I sit up straight. I twirl my hair around my finger.

"Hey, are you finished with your beer?"

Well, that figures.

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Mark Yer Calendars: We're Taking Over Movie Monday Night at the Troc

You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll hurl.

We're showing Wayne's World at the Balcony of the Troc on Monday, Sept. 13th. Exsqueeze me? Baking powder? It's true! DJ Goy Toy (aka me) will be spinning before and after the movie so get ready for that. $3 gets you in and goes towards a drink. Arrive before 7pm and get a FREE beer and a bag of popcorn. Doors open at 6:30pm and the movie starts at 8pm. Sorry youngsters, it's 21+.

Click on the image for the Facebook invite. SCHWIIINNNNG!

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Pics and Vids: Smell the Protein at Club Fantasy

There are a lot of things that I loved about this slightly NSFW video: Fur diapers. A slow motion shirt rip. Hot cops. Tongue wagging nerds. Taut buttocks. A terrible Hans and Franz impression. Really, this video has it all.

I can practically smell that backstage area from here and it reeks of Aqua net, steroids and sweaty leather thongs. I'm gonna have to hand out EPTs to you guys because I'm pretty sure that seeing this video will make you pregnant; that's how potent these men are. I ovulated just watching it.




Haha. I said "buttocks."

via everythingisterrible.com

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Treat Their Sleeves Like Mini-Blankies

I'm sitting here calmly sipping my iced coffee, watching him yank his sleeves around like he's kneading pizza dough. He's pulling them up over his fingers so it looks like he has extra-long arms. What's with him treating his sleeves like a goddamn blanky?

He's gotta knock that shit off. I'm sorry, but his fingers don't need a makeshift slanket. What is he? An angsty art student? A nervous poet? Because those are the two biggest sleeve abusers out there. 

I will never take a guy seriously who burrows into his sleeves like his hands are shy groundhogs. Are they afraid to see their shadow? His arms look like two kids rolling around in a tight sleeping bag.

It's not even cold in here, so I have no idea why his hands need their own personal turtleneck sweater. I wish he'd just leave his sleeves alone like a big boy.

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Real Talk: You Aren't My Ex

The first time he introduced me as his ex to his friends, I thought, "That's weird. I was never his girlfriend." Then, he did it again when he introduced me to the new girl he's seeing. Clearly, he has convinced himself that I'm his ex-girlfriend out of nowhere.

Not to split dating hairs here, but I was never his ex and it irritates me to watch him rewrite my dating history so flagrantly. Germany didn't win World War II, Russia didn't land on the moon first, and I never thought of him as my boyfriend. You can't fuck with historical facts! What's next, is he going to tell me dinosaurs never existed? Or, that Gigli was a good movie? It's madness!

I want to leave this letter under the windshield wiper of his car:

Dear Sir,

(Kim) Deal with it: I'm not your ex!

I'm sorry to break it to you, but you are not my ex. Do you know what the word "ex" means? It's shorthand for either EX-BOYFRIEND or EX-GIRLFRIEND. You were never my boyfriend and I certainly was never your girlfriend! We barely dated. We saw each other for roughly three weeks; that doesn't magically make me your ex-girlfriend. You know why?

A: We went on less than five dates.
B: I never met any of your friends during those dates.
C: I never met any of your family members.
D: I never changed an online relationship status to reflect our courtship.
E: I never called you my boyfriend. We were two adults going out, sharing meals, and smooching. THAT'S IT!

Therefore, please stop telling everyone that I'm your ex because it's not true. Just say that I'm your friend. If you HAVE to communicate to someone that we went out in public together on almost five occasions, just say that we were seeing each other. Cool?

Signed,
Shmitten Kitten

I'm not sure why he's so interested in being my ex anyway. There aren't any perks being in that club. It's not like he gets coupons to local establishments or a free sub at Subway. Really, it's no big whoop.

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Me And Kanye Sitting In A Tree T-E-X-T-I-N-G

You so crazy, Kanye!

I'm not sure if you've seen Kanye West's twitter page recently, but it's pretty bonkers. He sounds straight-up unhinged. The Huffington Post slapped his tweets on New Yorker cartoons, which was genius.

It got me thinking about what it'd be like if I dated Kanye West and the kinds of conversations we'd have. I'd bet that he'd send me the most insane text messages. Seeing as I have an MFA in crazy texts, it wasn't too hard to imagine this scenario. Keep in mind that these are all real tweets he has written, pulled directly from his stream. I kept his grammar and spelling exactly as it appeared for full affect.

Me: Hey, babe. How are you? How'd you sleep?
Kanye: Fur pillows are hard to actually sleep on
Me: You didn't sleep well? What have you done today?
Kanye: Up early in the morning taking meetings in Silicone Valley
Kanye: Lol I spelled Silicon wrong ( I guess I was still thinking about the other type of silicone ITS A PROCESS!! :)
Kanye: May hit the club.... it may happen!!!
Me: Dude, it's like 2pm. Isn't that a little early?
Kanye: you wanna know what goes through my mind in the early afternoon.... suits and Brazil yes!
Me: Haha. What?
Kanye: Office clothes are the shit
Me: I HATE office clothes. Gap khaki pants and thin cardigans? No thanks. I hate dressing like a secretary.
Kanye: Limitation spawns innovation
Me: I guess.
Kanye: Clothes are my drug
Me: I can see that.
Kanye: Let's have a toast!!!! skal!! THAT MEANS TOAST IN SWEDISH!!!
Me: You wanna have a toast? With what?
Kanye: GREEEEEEEY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSE!!!! hahhahahahahaaaaaa
Me: You already sound drunk. What are you drinking?
Kanye: Sipping Molnar Family Poseidin's Vineyard Chardonnay in the middle of the day sidebar out of gold cups for whatever that's worth
Me: Right. With your fronts in? You must look like Lil' Jon or some shit.
Kanye: No seriously ... I said my teeth are real diamonds... these are not fronts... I replaced my bottom row of teeth with diamonds.
Me: Sorry! I thought you were kidding. I'm sure they look amazing.
Kanye: Why is this girl showing me pictures of her Mom rt now hahhahahaaa hey I don't know what to say about this .... let me see more of you!!!
Me: I can't wait to show you more of me. Maybe, if you're good. Last time we talked, you seemed pretty irritated. What were you bummed out about again?
Kanye: I specifically ordered persian rugs with cherub imagery!!! What do I have to do to get a simple persian rug with cherub imagery uuuuugh
Me: That's a drag. I think it's cool how you text me whenever you have a spare minute. You're so cute. I know I'm not a model like your last girl. Whatever. Models are dumb.
Kanye: Dating models I had to learn to like small dogs and cigarettes
Me: Haha. I love you.
Kanye: I love me
Kanye: I love everybody... only thing I don't like is taxes.. me and taxes gone fight
Kanye: hold on.... I'm bout to hop on this #BABYMAMAJET the jets Billionaires give to they baby mamas or they 1rst 2nd or 3rd wife
Me: Okay! Talk later, boo.
Kanye: This is gonna be a dope ass day

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Cutest Thing Ever

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Story Time: What's Your Song?

One of the most romantic things a guy can do is pick out a song for "us." It's both old-fashioned and official, like he's giving me his varsity jacket or some shit. Every time I hear that song for the rest of my life, I'll think of him. (How sneaky/romantic)

The first time I had a designated song with a guy was with my high school sweetheart and it was "Ruby Soho" by Rancid. It came on when we were in his car one night and he noticed me singing along: "Destination unknown/ Ruby, ruby, ruby, ruby soho."

He pointed at the radio and told me that this was our song from now on. I asked him if he was serious and he nodded yes. Now, every time I hear those opening chords and Tim Armstrong's scratchy growl, I think about holding his hand while he drove me home.

I had a disagreement with a recent ex over "our song." He wanted Cameo's "Word Up!" and I counter-suggested Bloc Party's "So Here We Are." Then, he lobbied for New Edition's "Cool It Now" as our song, but I straight up vetoed that shit. Are you surprised we didn't work out? 

What songs do you have with your loves? Leave 'em in the comments.

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Things That Make Me A Bad Boyfriend: I Make Ridiculous Promises About Things I Have No Control Over

"You're not going to get stung by a jellyfish. I promise. I'll protect you."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a complete lie. It was just a hunch based on mathematical probability: The ocean is a huge place and there are literally thousands of people up and down the beach. The odds of one of us ACTUALLY getting stung were virtually slim to none.

So, you can imagine how shitty I felt ten minutes later when we're sitting back on the beach and she's staring daggers at me while the bright red rash from the jellyfish sting grew increasingly bigger. Damn you, jellyfish.

Why the hell did I make that promise?

I make outrageous promises all the time; I barely even notice myself doing it. When I was on the phone with a girlfriend late at night and she heard a sound in her apartment that made her nervous, I immediately countered with, "Don't worry. It's nothing, I promise."  What if there was some crazy axe-wielding maniac in her kitchen? Why did I just promise her that she would be fine?

Some more greatest hits from my false-promise past include, "It's not that spicy," "We won't run into my ex at this party," and many more. Believe me, there's quite a few.

On the plus side, at least my promise-breaking scenarios are mostly ridiculous. There's a lot of guys out there for whom breaking promises about serious stuff is second nature. Those guys, unfortunately, are the true bad boyfriends and should be avoided at all costs. Boyfriends like me should be, well, tolerated begrudgingly.While I can promise to be a good dude and treat you like the classy lady that you are, I might also promise that it definitely won't rain this weekend if we go camping. And when it inevitably starts drizzling, you can add it to the long list of things that make me a bad boyfriend.

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Bonerkiller: Bulging Cargo Short Pockets

I get that's it's summer and I get that he's gonna wanna wear shorts and I get that they're probably gonna be cargo shorts. I have no problem with that. However, it's a total bonerkiller he's stuffing handfuls of shit into the pockets by his knees like they're his Jansport backback.

I have no idea what he's stuffing in there, but it looks like his thighs are frowning. Is it tater tots? Fistfuls of Monopoly money? Dolls' heads? Balled up gym socks?

The worst is to watch him hunch over like a neanderthal, rip open the velcro and dig around for whatever he's looking for in his cargo pocket. His body looks like a rainbow when he goes spelunking for some bullshit on the sides of his pants. Front and back pockets should be enough. He doesn't need to bring his mid-leg region into the storage equation.

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Quick Rant: He's Too Busy

It's cute when he calls me on the phone like a human being. And, it's awesome when he plans to take me to at least two different places on our date. But, it's fucking terrible that he can only squeeze me in every other Tuesday for a five-hour chunk of time. What the shit is this busy shit? 

He'll flip through his calendar trying to pin down the day we can go on our dream date: "Let's see. I have an early meeting on Tuesday so Monday night is out. Tuesday I have a client dinner. Wednesday I have a dinner party for my friend's birthday. Thursday I have to work late. And, on Friday I leave town for the weekend. How's your schedule next week?" I can practically hear his finger resting on his lip like when Wayne read over his show's contract in Wayne's World. 

I'm trying to schedule a date here, not a semi-annual checkup at my dentist. Why do I have to wait two weeks to see his adorable face? I appreciate that he's not a slacker (as Mr. Strickland would say), but I hate dating busy guys! It makes me want to roll my eyes and blow the bangs out of my face in exasperation.

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Pics and Vids: Blazer of Glory

Hey, babe, I got you a present. You know how you said that you wanted to lose weight AND get new clothes for fall? Go ahead, open it!

It's muscles! On a blazer! Try it on. Oh shit, is that a cock printed on the bottom? *frowns* Yeah, I kept the receipt.

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