Things In Her House That Make Me Sad: Her Irrational Hatred of Curtains

Speaking of issues with the windows in the house of a member of the opposite sex, what is with your unreasonable hatred of letting me sleep in? I'm not even talking about really sleeping in. Just until 9am would be fine with me. But every single one of your giant, Eastern-facing windows is covered with some fragile half-doily, half-wax paper looking shred of fabric. Sure, it may appear refined according to the most recent issue of Martha Stewart Living, but holy hell, woman, sometimes I want to sleep past sun-up. What are we, Amish? I'm half-surprised you don't have a pet rooster just to complete the theme.

In the middle of the summer, the light comes beaming into my eyes with the intensity of a hot laser at something like 4:45am. I feel like I'm under a magnifying glass. I was comfortable under your blankets a few minutes ago, but now I feel like an ant that an enormous child is trying to set on fire in his backyard.

So please, have some consideration for those that don't want to wake up an hour and a half after finally getting to sleep. I've got a hangover and the last thing I want right now is a blinding brightness that penetrates my closed eyelids. Get some real curtains. It doesn't have to be the wizard-shielding variety in The Wizard of Oz/ high school play opening night-grade heft, but really, ANYTHING--even blinds--would be better than this.

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I Feel I Failed to Impress You With This Mix CD

I don't think I'm alone in that I prescribe wholeheartedly to the Rob Gordon school of mixtape creation. As far as I can tell, it's one of the last real mating rituals of the modern age. The song selection has been painstakingly labored over for a period of several days. Once I'm happy with that, then I trim the fat to make sure the whole thing fits comfortably onto one compact disc.

Finally, the programming. Oh, the programming. I listen to the songs repeatedly to discern what song will transition into the next in the most appropriate way. Matching theme, key, intros to outros; it can take a while. And once it's completed, I've got to listen to it in its entirety at least once to make sure I didn't miss anything important. I'm not claiming I hit the bullseye every single time, but damn if I didn't try.

Once the CD is completed, it's time to make the cover. After a few attempts, I'm reasonably happy with what I've come up with. There are enough allusions to both of us, so you'll know every time you listen to it that I made it with you specifically in mind. "This is sure to win you over," I think confidently to myself. Finally, after much finessing, I'm done. I present it to you with my chest puffed out with pride because I'm sure you'll take one look at my highly personalized gift and go weak in the knees.

You'll flash me a polite smile and say "Thanks!" with all the enthusiasm you can muster as you unceremoniously toss it into the backseat of your car. Apparently, I have miscalculated the gravity of this gesture.

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Tip Our Hats: Out-of-towners

In my 10+ years of living in Philadelphia, I like to think I’ve discovered some pretty neat places tucked away in weird little corners that not every run-of-the-mill resident is aware of. Of course, I’m usually wrong. I’ll think I have some ace up my sleeve to impress a girl that’s only been here for a year and a half, but when we get there, it’s always, “Oh, yeah! I know this place!” And just like that, I suddenly feel way less impressive.

But fret not, my ego, as there is help on the way: The out-of-towner. I love being able to bring you anywhere in town, knowing you’ve never been there. I’ll spend all afternoon regaling you with useless facts about everything we pass. I know deep down that you really don’t care about any of these things I’m telling you, but that you’re playing along and smiling at me when I make a bad joke about City Hall makes it all worthwhile. Even more than that, it all makes for a great excuse to keep walking and talking and not go home just yet.

And if that weren’t enough, when you realize we’re trying out some activity that even I haven’t done, your face lights up like an orphan on Christmas morning in the 3rd act of some happy-ending-type movie. The fact that there are still things here that I don’t know, and you get to do them with me for the first time; I know, that's pretty exciting.

So girls from other places that come to Philadelphia to go on a date with me, I tip my hat to you. Thanks for making me feel like I’ve got something to bring to the table here.

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Tip Our Hats: You’re Like an Adorable Encyclopedia

Normally, one wouldn’t expect to be turned on by talk of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, but the fact that you know he was killed in Sarajevo to kick off WWI is getting me all hot under the collar. This is no fluke, because you regularly kick my ass at Trivial Pursuit, and I’m strangely OK with that. And that shouldn’t be taken lightly, because--let’s face it--I take my board games very seriously.

Even better is the fact that “going out to the bar” implies that you’re going to check your calendar to see where there’s a good game of Quizzo going on tonight. I don’t even have to ask if that’s what’s happening. I try to suggest a clever team name so maybe you’ll be impressed and I’ll feel like I’ve contributed something. When the questions start coming, you squint for improved recall, covering your answers so no one can cheat off of you, and the tip of your tongue sticks ever-so-slightly out the corner of your mouth so we all know that you’re concentrating. Those other teams? They don’t stand a chance. They have no idea what they’re up against.

After you’ve trounced the opposition pretty much single-handedly and the waitress brings over the next round, you are so proud of yourself, grinning ear to ear, and it’s written all over your face that it doesn’t get much better than this. That face is my favorite part of the night.

So, adorable encyclopedias out there, I tip my hat to you. I’ve got a huge crush on that big sexy brain of yours. I want to take it out and buy it nice things and introduce it to my mom.

[Previously: The Quizzo Cutie]

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Tip Our Hats: You're a Really Fun Drunk

Sure, on any given day, you’re the very picture of restraint. Politeness and manners abound, and everyone you've ever met would describe you as a "really sweet girl.” But in familiar company after a few beers, you’re swearing like a lumberjack prostitute in a David Mamet movie telling off-color jokes that would make Prince blush.

I have no idea why, but it’s friggin’ adorable and I can’t wait to hear what you really think about your creepy co-worker who wears Tevas and socks on casual Friday and who said you had beautiful lips on that team-building trip last month.

I also get a huge kick out of the stories that tumble out of your mouth. With the slightest tangential reference, you’ll go on a tear about the one time in fifth grade where you were totally robbed at the science fair by this bitch whose father clearly did the whole project for her. The way you taught that mouse to run the maze by yourself was amazing, and that prick principal is going to burn in hell for not recognizing that. What was so impressive about a baking soda volcano anyway? Everyone knows how to make one of those. Everyone.

By the end of the night, you’re all tuckered out from the wild gesturing and belly laughing. You'll get all quiet with a goofy drunk smile and want to hold hands on the walk home. In those few short hours, we’ve experienced the full gamut of entertainment. What can we say? It was a good night.

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See, Here's The Thing: You’re A Fox In A Pack Of She-Wolves

I adore the fact that you've obviously spent a considerable amount of time getting yourself ready for a night out on the town with your girlfriends. I also appreciate that you are clearly out to meet a dude by the way that you linger near the bar with a near-empty drink, holding it ever-so-slightly out in front of you to let everyone know that you’re ready for another round, should they feel like stepping up and making a move.

But, there’s a problem. It’s your friends. There’s nothing wrong with them per se, but there are just so many of them. It’s hard enough to approach a girl at a bar as a rule, but when you surround that girl with seven of her closest friends, the intimidation factor goes through the roof. I’m not going anywhere near that because let’s be honest: I doubt my ego can handle that many catty snickers, should I misstep ever so slightly. I’m sorry. It’s not you--it’s them.

On top of that, the guys who will venture forth are not the droids you are looking for. Trust me. Any guy willing to carpet-bomb an entire field of women is just looking for any enemy foxhole he can accidentally hit. This isn’t an accuracy game for him and that’s no good for anyone.

So I implore you: If you must be out with that many of your lady friends, stray from the pack from time to time. Even if it’s just to wander over to the jukebox alone and skim the CD booklet covers, that window of opportunity is all that’s really needed. It’s intimidating enough when it’s just you, sitting on a stool looking cute. Don’t make it worse for us. Also, I’m sorry for that Star Wars reference earlier. Sometimes I can’t help myself.

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