Bonerkiller: Knocking Shit Off My Nightstand While I'm Trying To Sleep

Is it too much for him to go to bed at a reasonable hour? He's pacing around my room, acting irritated that I'm not giving him attention. Dude, it's a Tuesday night at 12:18am. The lights are out. I'm under the covers. I have my "goodnight mix" softly playing on my ipod lulling me to slumberland. Apparently this fuckhead didn't seem to get the memo that lights out = settle down.

Does he really have to bat my chapstick around like it's a dead mouse right now? THAT'S NOT A DEAD MOUSE, YOU DILDO; IT'S MY CHAPSTICK! Leave it alone.

When I whispered for him to chill out, he knocked a bottle of nail polish over like a total douche. Again, I asked him to calm down politely and instead of listening, he rubbed his cold nose on my cheek. RUDE! When I told him that I had a meeting in the morning and sharply demanded that he just curl up on the foot of the bed already, he walked away like he was too cool for school. I guess instead of respecting my wishes, he thought whacking my eyeglasses off my nightstand was a better idea. I swear to god, sleeping with him is a NIGHTMARE!

I finally threatened to toss him out of my room altogether and he was like, "Go ahead and do it. See if I care." So, I did and then he just stood outside my room and meowed like a shithead. This guy is the worst.

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Shmitten Kitten Mix For All You Hallowieners Out There

Our night train was derailed so no one got to see this amazingness

This is a picture of my best friend Jenna from a few years ago when she was Axl Rose for Halloween. She drew the tats herself with a Sharpie and even contoured her cheeks with blush, totally nailing that bored-and-chain-smoking-in-the-green-room-backstage look. They're like, "Time to go on stage, Axl." And she's all, "Fuck it. Let 'em wait."

We had planned to show off her costume at a bunch of parties. On the way out, I had her hand over her cellphone, keys, and wallet to me for safekeeping (an Axl Rose costume doesn't leave room to carry a purse, ya know?) but unfortunately, I left my purse in the cab on the way to the first party so we had to leave immediately. It's kinda hard to party without our wallets, phones, keys, and cash. The night was a total trainwreck.

Thankfully, I got my purse back along with all of our stuff the next morning due to a good Samaritan, but no one got to see Jenna's amazing costume which was a total bummer. So, here it is, in all its glory. TAKE IT IN!

Jenna put together this evil mix for you guys to bang your heads to. Click here to download it.

Track listing:

1. Hallowed Be Thy Name - Iron Maiden
2. Rainbow in the Dark - Dio
3. Long Way Back From Hell - Danzig
4. Slave to the Grind - Skid Row
5. Bad Reputation - Thin Lizzy
6. Do You Wanna Touch Me - Joan Jett and the Blackhearts
7. Love at First Bite - Motorhead & Girlschool
8. Living After Midnight - Judas Priest
9. Shout at the Devil - Motley Crue
10. Kiss Me Deadly - Lita Ford
11. Lights Out - UFO
12. Be Forewarned - Pentagram
13. Midnight Service at the Mutter Museum - The Murder City Devils

Happy Halloween!

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I've Found My Halloween Costume!

Check it out:

What are you gonna be for Halloween? Don't copy my idea. Wait, I changed my mind. You should totally copy my idea so then we can stomp around the party together like we're a sexy bookshelf.

via

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Story Time: What Do You Want Your Dream Guy To Be For Halloween?

My dream: to see a group of five guys dressed as O-Town (aka the poor man's 'N Sync) circa '00 for Halloween. I wanna see wireless mics, baggy jeans, and gelled, spiky bangs as far as the eye can see.



Just kidding! My dream guy would be Alex P. Keaton and/or Marty McFly and/or Teen Wolf. Any of those would do it for me. I'd also turn my head at Max Fischers, Fonzs, and Glenn Danzings.

A recent favorite was a guy who dressed as FDR replete with wire-framed glasses, a wheelchair and a blanket over his legs like he was ready for an impromptu Fireside chat. I couldn't tell if the wheelchair was part of the costume or if he was really wheelchair-bound. It didn't matter; I had the hots for him.

However, chatting proved tricky because his face was pretty much at my crotch level so I had to kneel down on the ground to introduce myself. It got awkward squatting on the kitchen floor in the middle of a raging house party trying to make light-hearted small talk whilst balancing my red Solo cup on his wheelchair arm. My leg cramped up after a while so I stood up like a creaky old man with arthritis. THAT'S PRETTY HOT, RIGHT FELLAS?

What would your dream guy dress up as? Tell me in the comments.

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Shlooby Kitten (BTTF Edition)

I <3 you, Shlooby Kitten.

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Real Talk: A Dude's Take On Girls' Halloween Costumes

Granted, he's not a girl, but we admire
Matt Lauer's commitment to his costume

Getting your Halloween costume together is always a somewhat agonizing process. Even for a guy like me who LOVES Halloween, I have to admit that sometimes the whole thing can be overwhelming. That being said, if you do the right costume the right way, you can be the hit of the party.

Anna and I bumped into each other this weekend in Philly and she asked me for a guy's perspective on what kind of costume guys like to see. I told her I'd make a post about it. Now, keep in mind that you should do a costume that makes YOU happy and fuck what stupid boys think, but just in case you care about my opinion, here goes:

1. If your costume idea is ambitious, go all out.
If you're going to be Lady Gaga, don't half-ass it. You're the one who chose the bold costume, now its your responsibility to go ALL OUT. It's all about the details. Is it gonna cost you an extra $20 to get your hair done with the Diet Coke can curlers? Who cares? You're Lady Gaga. DO IT.

2. If your costume is thrown together at the last minute, you better make it funny.
Okay, if you're going to toss a costume together on Friday afternoon with a quick trip to the thrift store, just make sure you've got a good idea behind it. No one wants to see another shitty zombie. One of my favorite cheap/easy costume ideas is to dress up like someone in your friend group. Pick someone with an identifiable style and mimic their look exactly. Unless it's totally unflattering, your friend will be confused and slightly honored.

3. Getting sexy?
This is a controversial Halloween topic, but you should keep in mind that as long as Halloween exists, there will be girls who use Halloween to dress in a ridiculously over-the-top sexy outfits. And I say, why the hell not? Why can't a normal girl have one day a year to let loose and wear something totally over the top? Now, there's always going to be your garden variety sorority girls rocking "sexy butterfly" or "sexy french maid." Bor-ring. If you're going to go sexy, be creative. Make it a part of your costume, or make it absolutely ridiculous. Who could say no to a sexy Chewbacca or sexy Hermione? Not this guy.

4. Topical, but not TOO topical.
Look, let's get right to the point: there's going to be 10,000 Antoine Dodsons roaming your city this Saturday. Not to mention armies of Old Spice guys and Chilean miners. If you're going to go topical, you need to either be SUPER ahead of the curve and anticipate this week's next huge meme (not easy to do) or you can keep it simple and keep things old school. Be a LOLcat. Be Friendster. I dunno, you'll know when you find it.

5. Girls, no beards.
I realize this is a bit specific, but it freaks me out. If your costume calls for painting facial hair or a five-o-clock shadow on your face, DON'T DO IT! You'll meet a new guy on Halloween, and then later, when you start dating a few months from now, his mind will always flash back to that creepy paint beard on your face and it will haunt him for the rest of my life. Not that this actually happened in real life. Ya know, just hypothetically speaking.

6. Nerd OUT.
Here's my final and most important rule. This is your one day to nerd out, so make the most of it. If you're way into Star Trek, you go right on ahead and be Tasha Yar. If you've always wanted to crossdress as David Bowie in Labyrinth, don't let me stop you. If you're dressed up in something that you love and you're having a great time, you're bound to meet that fellow nerd who is going to stop dead in his tracks when he sees your epic costume. He's going to fall in love right there. I guarantee it.*

*Results may vary.

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Bonerkiller: He's More Scared Of This Haunted House Than I Am

He is scared stupid!

When he squeezed my hand tightly while we were watching Halloween, I thought he was just flirting. When he hid his eyes with the blanket every time Mike Myers came on screen, I thought he was just trying to make me laugh. When he told me he slept with the lights on that night, I thought he was just being goofy. But tonight, in this haunted house, I suspect he's actually just a big baby.

It was his idea to come here. I assumed it was a clever way of getting me to cling to his side in terror so he could be my hero for an hour. I was ready to be his damsel in distress and we were off to a good start as he held my hand confidently and made his way bravely into the first dark doorway we encountered. But the moment a vampire popped out of a coffin, he screamed like he had Bieber fever and immediately searched for the exit.

The vampire gave me a WTF look and I just shrugged as we watched him frantically fumble around in the darkness. Before I knew it, he was pushing me into the dark ahead of him. Bitch, please. I’m not going through that hallway first: that’s his job.

He seemed to regain his composure until an angry criminal started shaking his cell bars in the next room then BOOM, he practically jumped into my arms. And I’m preeeetty sure he started crying. You do realize if we turned the lights on, we’d see some plywood, a lot of empty Red Bull cans and some teenagers with zombie makeup on, right? Scaaaaaaaary.

Doesn't he know that haunted houses are the prime time to make your move? When a girl is terrified, she’s likely to grab and grope her man wherever she possibly can to avoid contact with Barry the Convict and his jangly ball-and-chain. It’s very rare that a dude will leave a haunted house with a girl who isn’t clutching him tightly and thanking him for protecting her.

But you my friend, you’re making Chainsaw Charlie over there look pretty good right now. After all, I need a man who will chase me, not one who can’t watch "Scooby Doo" too close to bedtime. I’ll leave him here to find his own way out; I have a hot date with a serial killer.

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Scream At Their Dog To Get The Hell Off The Couch

I was on the best first date of my life. That was until his dog jumped up on the couch when we got back to his place, nearly knocking the glass of Cab Sav out of my hand with his unchecked exuberance. His paws clawed at my sweater and his drool left shiny streaks on my black jeans.

That's when I met my guy's inner Hulk: "BISCUIT! WHAT DID I TELL YOU? GET THE HELL OFF THE COUCH! GET DOWN, NOW! BAD BOY!" As he yanked at the dog's collar, I cowered between the cushions. Who is this man? He's a million miles away from the adorable guy who shared dessert with me an hour ago.

"Sorry 'bout that. He knows he's not supposed to jump on the couch." As the words left his mouth, the dog whipped his thick tail, almost knocking my dude's wine glass out of his hand too.

"THAT'S IT! BISCUIT, GO TO YOUR CAGE. NOW! GO ON, GET!" He stomped over to his cage, locked the mutt in, then resumed his place on the couch, his veins still bulging on his neck.

"Whew! Where were we. I think you were talking about the time you went to Italy? Please, continue." He acted like nothing happened, like screaming at an animal is as normal as blowing his nose.

I didn't want to continue shit. This Jekyl/Hyde screamer/wine sipper thing was too much for me to handle. Sorry, but I shouldn't hear a guy scream angrily on a first date: It's a little rule I have. I was straight-up rattled by his outburst. After that, no amount of Sigur Ros could've calmed the vibe down because it was totally ruined. Dog screamers, at least wait until I've left the room to punish your pet! 

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Quick Rant: Her Friends Judge Me By Committee

From our reader Eric E., who would prefer to not hear the gabbing from her gaggle.

Meeting her friends is great, but being interrogated by her network of consiglieri sucks! Why must dating her be turned into a popularity contest? You’d think I was trying to rush the world’s most exclusive sorority while wearing nothing but a Speedo and a hemp necklace. How did I end up as an expendable character in Dangerous Liaisons?

I realize that she scrutinizes me in phone conversations with her mom; that comes with the territory. In fact, I’d be disappointed if I didn’t merit a brief mention every now and again. But it’s different with her friends, who, rather than promoting her happiness, seem intent only on plotting my downfall. I’m bombarded with questions about music, films, and current events, as though I’ll unwittingly expose myself as a degenerate with questionable taste and suspect provenance. Is it really that important that I know the difference between East and West Coast rap? Am I embarrassing myself by thinking Repo Man was a cool movie? Should I be forever penalized if once, while I was sitting in a Starbucks, an elderly woman gave me her sandwich because she thought I was homeless?

On the surface, her friends were just being chatty, taking an interest in me because I’m with her. But each inquiry is delivered with a hint of menace. My every position is immediately probed for weakness, as though I’m defending myself before an ad hoc committee of Cinderella’s bitter stepsisters. Even the most casual get-together ends with me feeling like I’m on all fours at the Westminster Kennel Club, being inspected from snout to tail while the weight of my balls is measured by hand. “They’re not symmetrical,” one might say. “One’s smaller than the other. Tsk, tsk.”

The worst is that her viewpoint is noticeably altered by the machinations of the cabal. Sunday morning, she complimented me on my charming affability at last night’s dinner party. But by Wednesday afternoon, she’s scolding me for my boorish behavior at the same event. She might even cite one of her confidants: “So-and-so thought your comments about Monica Lewinsky were tactless.” Is there any doubt that she’s being told she can do better—much, much better?

This is funny. My friends are much nicer. They usually try to make an honest effort to like the fella I'm with. The fangs don't come out until after he does something fucked up and/or dumps me in an immature way. THEN SHIT GETS REAL VERY QUICK.

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Pics and Vids: The Beard Master

This is amazing. Anyone who digs beards, heavy metal, and boobs should probably watch this. It's slightly NSFW but whatever. It's Friday! What's your boss gonna do, fire you? He'll probably be like, "Let me see that amazing thing you're watching." Then, he'll high-five you and send out a company-wide memo about how you find the best YouTube videos. Good job, sport.



h/t to Phil, who brought this to my attention via Bookface. I mean Facebook. I can see why you "liked" it!

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Story Time: What Books Would You Wanna See On His Bookshelf?

I'm perusing the spines and each book is radder than the next. Aside from having my AP Great Books syllabus on display, he also has an impressive collection of pop culture standards: High Fidelity, Please Kill Me, and the collected works of e.e. cummings (one of my favorite poets!). Awww shit, is that The Dirt? THAT'S ONE OF MY FAVORITES TOO!

I see a collection of cookbooks clustered on one side of the shelf along thick, dusty tomes about the Civil War. He has a handful of graphic novels and comic books. Is that Optic Nerve I spy over there? And Hate? Schwiiiing.

Now it's your turn: what would you wanna see perched on his bookshelf? Leave your all-time faves in the comments.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: His Sweet TV Setup

It's pretty radical when a guy tricks out his living room for maximum entertainment value. There's a huge comfy leather couch for A+ lounging. There's perfect coffee table placement two feet away to prop our toesies up. And, there's speakers dotted around the room. As Pauly D would say, "Awwww yeah, surround sound, yeah."

But, my favorite thing is the huge projection screen mounted on the wall so when he loads up the latest episode of Eastbound & Down, it feels like we're parked in a drive-in movie. I look around the place nodding my head in approval. Then, I'll smile at him while I reach over to clink our beer bottles together. THIS IS MY DREAM LIVING ROOM, DUDE! Nice work. We're pretty much couch potato ballers. It doesn't get much better than this. (Just between us, I have low standards for what constitutes being a baller.)

He many only have ketchup and a lone, limp pickle in his fridge, but while we're taking in a flick surrounded by state-of-the-art technology, I feel like a newborn baby swaddled in this leather couch. And, that just makes me glad.

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Good News! I Have Decided To Overlook His Nervous Sweating

I can see the sweat soaking through his undershirt, but dude, it's totally fine. I'm just going to pretend that I didn't see it. I mean, of course I see it. Anyone could see it. It's pretty bad.

I considered tossing him a towel or making a crack asking if he ran a marathon before he came to meet me, but I refrained. In fact, I've decided to straight-up ignore it. Yay for him, right?

He gets nervous around me, the least I can do is look the other way as he works through it. Sure, it's obvious that his armpits are damp, his collar is drenched, and a stream of sweat is dampening his back, but I don't care! In fact, I think it's kinda cute in a strange way.

I'm not going to want to hug him or shake his hand--God, no!--but I'm happy to sit here next to him and smile obliviously. THAT, I can do. And, I will do. So, congrats!

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Pics and Vids: It's Science!

See? THEY DON'T EVEN KNOW! *throws hands up in the air*

Speaking of things we don't know, we don't know what this even means. But, they have NUMBERS to back it up. IT'S SCIENCE!

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Reader Submitted Bonerkiller: Girls Who Don't Share

From our reader, Eric E., who likes it when a she lets him have a taste. OF HER SNACK, PEOPLE. 

Considering the recent abundance of Oktoberfests, I wasn’t surprised by her suggestion that we spend a beautiful autumn day together munching on giant pretzels and pouring beer down our throats. What surprised me was her strict insistence on proper attire.

Saturday afternoon, I arrived at her place as planned and found her in a traditional dirndl that showed off her lovely figure to full effect. No problem there. But then she shoved a bundle of clothes at me and said, “Here, put these on.” Some minutes later I found myself in a pair of lederhosen that did nothing but draw attention to the farmer’s tan on my legs. She stuck an alpine hat on my head and declared us good to go. It’s a testament to my love of Hacker-Pschorr that I followed her outside.

We crossed Rittenhouse Park and headed east, navigating by the distant sounds of the Chicken Dance. No sooner did we arrive at the party than she pointed at a concession booth and screamed, “Dampfnudel!”

“But we need room for the Bavarian lager,” I protested.

“No problem. We’ll split one.” This is what I heard, clearly and distinctly. So I walked over to the booth and got us one, along with two spoons.

The dampfnudel is a sweet dumpling covered in warm vanilla cream. It came in a wobbly paper boat, which I had to hold with both hands. We found a quiet spot and dug in. At one point, I got distracted by the crowd and let her take a few bites out of turn. By the time I turned my attention back, the dumpling was half gone. I reached in, only to have my spoon blocked by hers. “What’re you doing?” she asked.

“I’m trying to share this with you. Remember how we agreed to do that?”

“That was before I tasted it.”

“It’s good, right? So let me have some more.”

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me. So let’s clear something up right now: I don’t normally share food, especially something as yummy as this dumpling.”

“But, we agreed in advance.” I frowned.

“Tough break, Liesl. You're the genius who only got one of these. Now, if you’re done complaining, go get us some shots of Kirschwasser while I stay here and finish this.”

I marched off, feeling ridiculous, outmaneuvered, and a little hungry. But that’s when I smelled the Bratwurst and sauerkraut. Clearly, I'd need my strength to climb that particular mountain.

Tough break, my dear. For the record, I would've shared mine with you 'cause I'm nice like that. Most of the time. Unless I'm PMSing. 

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Don't Take This The Wrong Way, But Our Kids Would Be Straight-Up Stupid

Hmmm. How do I say this. He's a few sandwiches short of a picnic, if you know what I mean. His suggestions never make sense. His reasoning seems cloudy. And, he gets mad when I use "big words" that he says he doesn't understand. I look into his eyes and it seems like the lights are on, but no one's home.

I can overlook these things because he wears cool jeans and has nice hair, but then I think about what would happen if, god forbid, I were to get pregnant by him. That's when I realized that I couldn't risk it because our kids would make Ralph Wiggum look like Aristotle. They'd be the kids in the back of the classroom eating paste and drooling, decked out in helmets and child leashes. The thought of my gene pool swirling with his makes me terrified for humanity's future. I feel like this is some sort of Terminator plotline waiting to happen.

This isn't a random guy or a snap decision; I've known him since high school. And, he was kinda stupid in high school too. I'm not elitist and I don't care the he's not academically inclined, but I can't ignore it at the same time. Nope. Best to just step away and turn him down. It's for the best.

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Quick Rant: His Chronically Full Voicemail Box

I don't like how his voicemail box is always full. What the hell? It's not like I was interested in leaving a message, but hearing the robotic lady tell me that his mailbox is full gets on my nerves. It's like having his phone slam a door in my face. I can't leave a voicemail message? But, what if I want to? YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME, ROBOT LADY.

What, is he too busy to listen to 'em? Too unconcerned with the things people need to tell him? Sorry he couldn't give a fuck about his voicemails. It's like he's giving people who call him a huge, beefy middle finger. 

It's not a full-on bonerkiller, but it makes me do a smirk 'n' jerk because it's the audio equivalent of seeing his overflowing hamper or his sink filled with dirty dishes. GET YOUR (phone) HOUSE IN ORDER, DUDE! Erase that shit, son.

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I Love Love Love Former Paperboys

I don't remember how it came up in conversation, but hearing him talking about his days as a paperboy way back when made me practically hyperventilate. I'M IN THE PRESENCE OF A REAL, LIVE (former) PAPERBOY, EVERYBODY!

As an avid Paperboy game player on my old skool Nintendo, I hold nothing but the highest respect for paperboys. Playing that game for hours on end during my braces-having years taught me the rigors of his chosen pre-teen profession. Dodging rabid dogs, avoiding newspaper-shaking grandmas, and popping wheelies: he's the real suburban commando here. He probably made 30 cents a day and spent his money on baseball cards or some shit. SO CUTE, right?

I love the fact that he's a former paperboy. Picturing him as a sleepy sixth grader peddling around on a Huffy tossing papers on porches at sunrise warms my cold, bitter heart. When he told me that he used to listen to Iron Maiden on his Walkman during his route, I wanted to "awww" myself to death. That's the fucking cherry on the too adorable sundae.

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Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Empty Box of Pasta Roni

From our reader Lorraine, who is grossed out by his gnarly insta-meal.

He has sophisticated taste. When we're out for drinks, he orders craft beers and fine wines. He skips the quesadillas on the app menu and goes with the scallop brochette. He is accomplished in his career, works out at the gym regularly and rents a luxury apartment.

Fast forward to a few hours post-drinks. We're at the door to his apartment but before we go in, he explains that he didn't expect guests tonight, so his apartment is a little messy. Turns out, it's not that bad and honestly, it probably pales in comparison to the shithole state my apartment is in.

I turned around to drop my purse on the kitchen counter and there it is: an empty box of Pasta Roni. Pasta Fucking Roni. Garlic & Olive Oil Vermicelli, to be exact.

Listen, I get it. When he's not out plying me with Allagash White and witty banter, dude is cooking for one. But Pasta Roni? Really? You can't come up with a better meal for one? First of all, that shit is about as nutritious as the cardboard box it comes in. Not to mention that it's flat out gross; over-processed flavoring and soggy, non-descript pasta that leaves him with breath like a goddamn buffalo.

Alright, so maybe it's not about it's nutritional value, or the fact that it's barely a notch up from Easy Mac. Maybe I just can't bear the thought of him hovering over his stove for 8-10 minutes, stirring frequently, then eating it straight from the pan as he peruses some blog about Wordpress plug-ins. He's supposed to be cooking steak with shitake mushroom demi-glace, while listening to great music, and indulging in a 1989 French Bordeaux.

I guess I must resign myself to the fact that our future does not include him cooking me a gourmet meal in his sleek kitchen as we discuss our latest reading lists. And that, my friend, makes me sad.

This is a timely submission because JUST YESTERDAY, a cute guy who works at Starbucks tried to chat me up, which was awkward because I had my earbuds in listening to music. Each time he made a little comment as he walked past me, I had to pop an earbud out and say, "What?" and make him repeat what he said.

Turns out that he wanted to tell me that he was in a good mood because there was a deal at the supermarket where they had Kraft Mac and Cheese, 3 for 99 cents. He even went to the back room, took them out and shook them at me like boxy cassanettes. He was clearly pumped at the bargain. I crinkled my nose because WHO BRAGS ABOUT BUYING MAC AND CHEESE? I was like, "Cool story, bro. I popped an earbud out for that?"

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Boxerdropper: I Will Never Do An Impromptu Pop In

Impromptu pop ins get you nothin' but shit

I would be an amazing girlfriend because I would never stop by unannounced. I can't help it; It's ingrained in my DNA to make firm plans to see a boy I'm dating. Furthermore:

• There will be no drop ins to his house.
• No, "Hey, I'm in your neighborhood! What are you up to?" texts will be sent. 
• No random pop ins to his work.
• No spontaneous showups to the bar he's at with his friends. 

It's not how I roll. Years of experience have taught me that my idea of spontaneity can be his idea of an inconvenience.

If he's home, maybe he's taking a nap and will be all cranky when I ring his doorbell. Instead of a huge smile on his face at seeing me, he'll be a sourpuss. If he's at work, maybe he'll be busy with customers or get in trouble with his boss if he's caught talking to me on the clock. If he's out with his friends, he'll get annoyed that I'm crashing his bro-down time. FUCK THAT!

I want my man to look forward to seeing me. I want him to count the minutes until we're together. Showing up on his doorstep like an abandoned baby isn't gonna make that happen. Yup, no impromptu pop ins. That's the Shmitten Kitten guarantee right there.

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Little Known Fact: I Will Not Watch Human Centipede With Him No Matter How Many Times He Asks

I promise you that I will hate this film

"Dude--"
"Nope."
"--it's a film about--"
"Nope."
"--a scientist--"
"Nope."
"--who surgically--"
"Nope."
"--connects--"
"Nope."
"--three people--"
"Nope."
"--together--"
"Nope."
"--to form a human centipede."
"Nope. Never. No way. No how."
"Come on! It'll be fun."
"NO! Quit asking me. I will never watch this film with you. Ever."
"Duuuuuuuuude."

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I Love Love Love His Shitty Handwriting

Like the famous pick-up artist,
his shitty handwriting is a mystery

Not to sound like a college senior thesis here, but with technology invading every social interaction, it's becoming a rare thing to see a guy's handwriting. It just doesn't come up that often. Numbers are typed into cell phones. Emails are sent. Notes are texted. Handwriting has gone by the wayside.

The only time I even get to see a glimpse of his handwriting anymore is if he's signing a credit card receipt or writing out a check in my presence. For the most part, his handwriting is a mystery to me. Does he write in cursive? Does he only write in capital letters? Does he dot the letter i with a heart? I have no clue!

Therefore, it's a special event when I get to see an extended example of his penmanship. Maybe he left a note for his roommate alerting him to call their landlord. Maybe he scribbled a message to his brother in a birthday card. I'll hold it in my hands and study it like they're the cave drawings of an ancient tribe. So that's how he writes the letter "z." Weird!

Sure, his shitty handwriting looks like he scrawled the words out whilst sneezing in a bumper car, but it's his. Therefore, I'll automatically love it.

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I'd Like To Take This Time To Thank Him For Not Tucking His Shirt In Tonight

Let's face it: he's got a bit of a beer belly goin' on. No big whoop. I kinda dig it, to be honest. Especially with this fall weather. He's gonna be sooooo snuggleable come cider-sipping time. However, come fancy clothes-time, I was a little concerned that he was gonna do a tuck in. That would not only accentuate his beer belly, but it would also make him look more Peter Griffin-esque.  I'm gonna use Seth Rogen pre-Green Hornet training to illustrate my point here.

Tucked and belted

He still looks handsome, but you see what I mean, right? So, it pleased me to see him stroll up to me, untucked.

Untucked and foxy

Ah, a clean silhouette! Well done, my dear. A+. Gold star.

I should just re-name this site Husky Fashion Tips.

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I Love Love Love Banter Champions

Dude, our banter is off the charts! We're going tit for tat a mile a minute. What we have here is a heated ping pong match of conversation. Onlookers are wowed by how in sync we are because we are like a zipper, two sides coming together seamlessly.

I could do this all night, just going back and forth with him. Let me tell you, if there were a Boy Scout badge for excellent banter, he'd have earned it years ago. He'd coach the younger Cub Scouts how to banter in specialty workshops across the Tri-State area. Really, it's a skill all guys should master, like typing different kinds of knots or how to shotgun a beer. 

I love what we we've got going on here. For a former high school debater such as myself, going toe to toe with this banter champion is pure bliss. Hands down, this is my favorite way to flirt.   

Where did he come from, Planet Banter? He's a pro! He should be sponsored by Bike (Nike's banter division). I'm lapping up his bangin' banter like a kitten lapping up milk. This is some Joey/Pacey shit right here and I cannot get enough. Bravo, my banter champ!

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I Love Love Love His Play Clothes

One of my favorite things about dating a guy with a real job is being able to witness his transformation from business casual into his "play" clothes when he comes home from work. He'll pop off his button-down shirt and toss on a ratty tee. See ya later, khakis, he's gonna put on something with an elastic waistband. It's adorable.

In honor of his scruffy duds, I wrote a poem:

Stiff shirt and ties are what he wears during the day,
Come 5pm, he'll wanna take 'em off, what can I say?
Soccer shorts though he doesn't play the sport,
a college hoodie with the arms a little too short.
Acquired at a Gap or an old birthday present
They have a drawstring and a large hole in the armpit.
After years of lounging, they're perfectly broken in.
It's the only thing he wants to wear, no matter the season.
A big fuck you to shiny black shoes,
Socks or slippers, how do you chose?
He'd wear 'em every day, if only he can
He's rumpled and happy, play clothes make the man.

Suck on that, Shakespeare.

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Shlooby Kitten Gets Some Love

Our little pet project minx, Shlooby Kitten, got a shout out on The Frisky today. She's such a tart! Love her. 

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Bonerkiller: Philosophers

I wanna sock philosophers in their witchy, upturned noses. They're total know-it-alls just because they read a few boring books by old men. It's totally thrilling to hear them drone on about how reality is only a perception and that we could all just be a molecule on a giant's toe for all we know. (Not!) 

I can't stand the way they talk slowly or how they wear drab clothes the color of Winnebago interiors. I also hate being in their apartments, with dusty books strewn everywhere and a week's worth of dirty dishes in the sink.

I even hate their music because it's usually something grating, like free jazz or experimental techno. Gross. Come on, be honest: Have you ever heard a philosopher sing along to Katy Perry? Or the motherfucking Beach Boys? The most you'll get is a head bob along to R.E.M. because they were huge R.E.M. fans in college, the last time their esoteric tastes merged with the mainstream.

I took a philosophy class in college and my instructor, a bumbling grad student named Chad, had a ponytail. I hated his ponytail and daydreamed about shearing it off. I couldn't tell any of the philosophers apart: I didn't know my Kierkegaard from Kant from my Nietzsche. Our final exam was to debate the philosophical implications of molecular reconstruction if one is ever beamed to another location on Star Trek. Seriously. That was my final exam. (And people wonder why a Liberal Arts degree is worthless.)

Ever since then, I can't take philosophers seriously. If a guy tells me that he's a philosophy grad student, I frown. They're like hippies, but with thicker soles on their footwear.

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I've Come To The Conclusion That It's Impossible To Hold A Grudge Against Him

Who can be angry at a guy like this?

He does a million terrible things all the time. He flakes out on our plans at the last minute. He's a cheapskate. He refuses to watch the movie that I wanna watch. He'll invite his friends to come out with us even though I was looking to score some solo time with him. He'll only agree to go to two bars in the entire city so every time we go out, we end up at one of those shitholes. The last straw was when he hit on another girl during our fourth date. Honestly, he's THE WORST; A total nightmare for women.

I've written him off more times that I can count: I've deleted him from my Facebook friend list. I've blocked him on gchat and I've deleted his number from my phone (twice!). However, I've come to terms with the fact that it is impossible to hold a grudge against him.

I ran into him at a party and he came up to me straightaway. Must resist his charms. He fist bumped me and said, "What's up, player?" which made me laugh. I did my best to project a steely facade. "Hello."

"What? You're still mad at me? COME ON! Don't be mad. How can you be mad at a guy who dances like this?" Then, he grabbed his best friend's hips and freaked him from behind, causing the poor guy to spill his beer everywhere. I covered my mouth so he wouldn't see me crack up.

"There it is! I knew I could get you to smile." I tried not to grin, but it was impossible. How can I be angry at such an immature goofball? It's a fact: Immature goofballs make terrible boyfriends. It's like getting mad that Nickelback still has a career or that a Katherine Heigl movie lacked sufficient character development. What's the point? It's the nature of the beast.

Besides, I don't enjoy being irritated at him. It makes me feel like I'm an uptight, humorless bitch. Fuck it. It's easier to accept him for the wacky jerk he is. And just like that, Grudgetown was population: zero. 

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Reader Submitted First Date Horror Story

From Zack, who had a pretty amazing/adorable/ouchy first date:

I've always been a shy, quiet nerd. In high school I couldn't look at a hot girl, let alone work up the courage to talk to one. But shortly after Christmas break, the hottest girl in my grade asked me out. Think Kelly Taylor meets Kelly Kapowski. She could've had any dude at school and I don't know what the hell she saw in me.

As her math tutor, I'd met her a few times before. She'd ask about the formula for calculating the area of a rhombus, staring at me with those big brown eyes. I'd just blabber, “Huh buh wuh." Soooooo pathetic.

We were too young to drive, so my mom dropped me off at her place one Saturday. Her family was really nice. At one point, her mom pulled me aside, handed me a condom and told me, “Don't forget to use this.” Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now, at 14 I thought, “Coolest...mom...EVER!” But as an adult, that totally creeps me out. How many guys had she hooked up with before me? (I later found out the number was four.)

After watching a movie at her house, her mom drove us to the park. We were just kicking a soccer ball around and goofing off. Then, she kicked the ball while I had my back to her and I turned around at the worst possible moment. Next thing I knew, I was on the ground in agony, wondering where my left testicle went. Acting tough, I brushed it off and grabbed a frisbee. About an hour later, I accidentally hit her in the face with it. When her mom picked us up, my date had bloody tissues sticking out of her nose and I had an ice pack on my crotch.

All I wanted to do was go home and DIE. I knew she would tell all of her hot friends, and I would officially be undateable for the next four years. This date couldn't POSSIBLY get any worse.

Her mom drove me home and she came along for the ride. As I was getting out of the car, she pulled me back for a kiss. I was not expecting that. I'd never seriously kissed a girl before, and I certainly wasn't expecting ours to be a french kiss. She went in far enough to trigger my gag reflex, causing me to clamp my mouth shut. Yeah, my first real kiss, and I bit her tongue hard enough to draw blood. I spent the rest of the weekend thinking, “Please God, kill me before school on Monday.”

We actually dated for about six months, but short of setting her hair on fire, I don't think that date could possibly have gone any worse.

Awwww. This sounds like a There's Something About Mary deleted scene. Anyone else have a cute first date story? Send it to me at hi@shmittenkitten.com. I'll publish the funny ones.

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Say That They Hate PDA

I once dated a guy who refused to show any type of affection towards me in public: No hand holding walking around the city on a lazy Sunday afternoon, no playful kisses while we're sipping coffee on a park bench, no quick hugs leaning against the wall while we're waiting for the subway. For me, it was torture.

At first, it made me want to mess with him more. I'd get a kick out of watching him squirm as I squeezed his leg under the table during quizzo. But, the more playful I got, the angrier he'd get. He'd smack my hand away, narrow his eyes and tell me to knock it off. He wasn't kidding around: he hated it.

I couldn't understand why he never wanted to display any affection towards me in public. He'd firmly tell me that he "hated PDA" and that he found any kind of physical contact in public supremely uncomfortable. I'd try to gently explain that we didn't have to have a free-for-all Woodstock-esque love-in in the middle of the street, but that, yes, I expected my boyfriend to be affectionate with me when we're out together. It was no use; he downright refused.

Now, there is no way I'd consider dating someone who had those kinds of hangups. It's funny: for a guy who hated holding hands, he sure was a handful to deal with. Who hates holding hands? That's like, the BEST PART of dating someone. He's totally missing out, man. 

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