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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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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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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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 that 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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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. 

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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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Bonerkiller: Hairy Butt Patches

I'm gonna be honest here: I'm not a fan of a butt patch on a dude. I think it's gross. It's looks like Tom Selleck's chest slid down his spine and parked right over his crack. Ewwwww!

A few wisps of peach fuzz over there, sure I'll let it slide. But if you can braid his lower back hairs into a friendship bracelet, then I'm out.

It's like the Mona Lisa, I feel it's watching me wherever I go. I try to fake it out; I move quickly from one side of the room the next. No dice. It's still watching, peeking out from over his jeans like a hairy tramp stamp. To quote Hall and Oats, "I can't go for that/ no can do."

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See Here's The Thing: He Spent All Of His Money On Dumb Shit

Honestly, I don't care if my honey ain't got no money. I don't care if he turns his pockets inside out and frowns like a hobo down on his luck. I don't even care if he has to break his piggy bank open with a sledgehammer to buy a package of Ramen noodles. WHATEVER!

However, I DO have a problem if he does have money but just spends all of it on dumb shit he can't really afford. He'll show off his new extravagant purchase then in the same breath lament that he's all "tapped out" and can't afford to grab a slice of pizza for dinner.

It's like he has no self-control when it comes to buying toys. When he can't pay his rent but he's bragging about his new Xbox, shit ain't right. When he can't afford to go on a quick getaway with me for the weekend, but can buy yet ANOTHER monitor for his computer, it makes me get those squiggly lines of frustration like I'm an angry cartoon.

I don't care what he does with his money, but it affects me because he's needlessly broke all the time. At first, I'll try to accommodate it and suggest we go on some low-cost dates but there are only so many times I can eat take out from Taco Bell then sit in a park. Somehow I'll end up paying for us to go to nicer places (which he can't afford because he just upgraded his iPhone so he's broke until his next paycheck.)

He doesn't need to have an Excel spreadsheet with all of his purchases for the month, but a little money management would go a long way. That's all I'm saying.

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Bonerkiller: Road Ragers

Why, I oughta!!!!!

After a leisurely night out, he whisks me to his car to head home for the evening. He even opens the door for me and makes sure that I'm seated safely. "This is perfect." I think. "What a gentleman!"

We pull out into the street and a taxi cab cuts us off. My dude slams on the breaks. Phew, close call. But immediately, it's like the HULK has taken over his body. He grips the steering wheel and his eyes start to bulge and twitch. I swear I can see the veins popping out of his forehead.

"Motherf%#@ing asshole!!!" he screams as he proceeds to peel out and storm down 2nd Street like a bat outta hell. He's accelerating rapidly, trying to catch up with the cabbie. 

"Stop!! What are you doing!?!" I shriek.

"That cabbie cut me off!" he snaps, with a wild look in his eyes. "Fuck him!"

Um, that's what cabbies in the city DO. Get used to it. We just flew by like five pedestrian couples who had to yank each other back on the sidewalk because they were scared of your insane driving. Honestly, I'd rather be on their date than this one. At least they are (presumably) with more level-headed citizens. I have a damn wild man on my hands now.

Just ease off the gas, buddy. No one needs to see your white-knuckle grip on a steering wheel at this stage in the game. The dress I'm wearing looks much better sans blood and I'd like to get home from this otherwise lovely date in one piece. I'm precious cargo, dammit!

He doesn't have to drive like a sleepy grandma, but a few notches below a pissed-off cage fighter would do a lot for me. 

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Think That "Hipsters" Are A Terrible Thing To Be Shunned

Me: "What do you wanna do tonight?"

Him, shrugging: "I don't know."

Me: "Why don't we go to the Lost Bar for a beer or two? That could be fun."

Him: "Nah. That's a hipster bar."

Me, thinking: "Um, alright. Maybe we could go to Johnny Brenda's?"

Him: "Ugh! That place is even worse! It's practically crawling with hipsters."

Me: "So what? It's a bar where beer will be served. Who cares?"

Him: "They just suck, that's all." 

Hearing him rant about hipsters is like hearing your dad talk about Hannah Montana: he's speaking about something that he has no business caring about. Who cares what hipsters do? It's like caring about someone's interests on Friendster or that Project Runway moved to the Lifetime network or who your fourth employer listed on LinkedIn is: NO ONE CARES! No one should give a shit about hipsters ever. End of story. 

It's like in his mind, anything fun and vaguely enjoyed by young people is somehow equated to a devil's den where people sip PBRs and slouch and possibly have a Tumblr blog. BFD.

Fuck, this guy is getting on my nerves. The only places he ever wants to go are to Phillies games, his neighbor's house to watch Phillies games, or his own living room to watch Phillies games. Just hearing the word "hipster" from his mouth makes me want to roll my eyes so hard that they'll pop out of my head, spin down the floor, and come to a gentle rest by the edge of the carpet. THUMBS WAY THE FUCK DOWN!

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Bonerkiller: Scoop Neck Shirts On A Dude

I would not hit this

There a lot of necklines that I'll welcome with open arms: crew necks are cool. Polo collars: okey doke. V-necks: sure, why not. Hell, I'll even tolerate a deep V if the guy can pull it off without looking like a total douchbag. (The key? Have a beer belly and wear a flannel over it.)

However, I have no love for scoop necks on a guy. Never have, never will. No one needs to see that much man clavicle. It's horrible. Who wants to see a wiry chest hair framed by a loosey goosey neckline? NOT ME!

It looks like their shirt is frowning, and I don't blame it. Even the shirt knows that it looks ridiculous! My best friend's ex used to wear shirts like this all the time and I'd have to shield my eyes when he'd walk through the door.

I'm like the army dad in American Beauty all of a sudden. I wanna grab him by the thin shirt material and yell, "Get a respectable neckline, ya freeloadin' hippie! You're two inches of fabric away from a nip slip. It ain't right."

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Bonerkiller: Guys Who Make Me Watch Fantastic Planet

Oh man, I hate this movie. If you've never heard of it, it's an animated French film that's a surrealistic adventure and zzzzzzzzzz. I can't even describe this movie without falling asleep. And, I couldn't watch this YouTube trailer without wanting to punch my computer monitor. Seriously, that's how angry this film makes me.

But--I swear to god--it seems that every two-bit film student I've ever hung out with has tried to make me watch it with him. It's like they all read the same dating manual that says we have to watch this on our fifth date when they've run out of ideas of where to take me.

"But, I hate it!" I'll protest. "It's just terrible! It's boring. It's weird. It makes me want to claw my own eyes out. I'd rather do ANYTHING than watch this movie. I'd rather clip my father's toenails than watch it. I'd rather watch Ernest Goes to Jail than watch this. Come on."

"Well, you have to be on drugs to properly enjoy it," he'll say, like that's a gamechanger.

"No amount of drugs in the world will make this movie appeal to me. Can't we just watch Back to the Future again or something?" He'll roll his eyes at me but whatever. Fantastic Planet cinemaniacs have gotta buzz off.

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Bonerkiller: Spitters

From our reader Diane, who cannot stand spitters. At all.

I don't think there is anything more unattractive then a guy who spits. I mean, what the hell are you thinking?!?! Okay, your name is not Buffalo Bill nor are you with your buddies at the local bar aiming at the ol' spittoon; You're on the street, waiting for the light to change or in line for coffee at the deli.

What is it with guys who get this urge to hawk a loogie? When I start to hear that tell-tale snort, not only does it cause me to start breaking out in goosebumps, but I also feel like hop/running away from you so my feet don't get spattered with your nasty excess mouth goo.

At least excuse yourself and do that in the privacy of a bathroom. But right in front of me?! Not cool. I don't care if you just came from the dentist and have an inordinate amount of saliva being produced, or if you have really bad sinuses. There is nothing more horrendous then hearing/seeing a man spit. Extra demerit points when it's on a date (which has occurred).

I hear ya, and I know I'm gonna be in the minority here, but I have to confess that I think it's kinda cool when a guy spits. In fact, I had a crush on a boy in college and the first thing that we did when he came back to my dorm room was have a spitting contest out of the window to see who could land one on a pigeon below. It made my heart happy to watch him try and summon a loogie from deep within his chest. I loved that guy.

I also adore the line in the Fall Out Boy song "Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner" that goes, "Drink down that gin and kerosene/ And come spit on bridges with me" because that is TOTALLY SOMETHING I'D DO! I think it's romantic in some fucked up youthful way, like carving our initials in a tree or exchanging socks so you can wear something of his. It's probably just me, right?

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