When He's Cool With Me Watching The Food Network All Afternoon As I Lay Around His House

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Projecting TV Shows And Movies On His Wall Like A Boss

I seriously love when guys rig up projectors like this. We should have a national holiday honoring homeboys who single-handedly transform their drafty South Philly row homes into luxurious cinema-esque living room experiences. If it weren't for his noisy neighbors constantly slamming their screen door every 20 minutes, I'd almost feel like I was on an episode of Cribs.

Thanks to his bitchin' set-up, now we can kick back, drink some beers and watch Drive like we're Arabian princes or successful rappers.

And, just when I thought I couldn't be more relaxed or entertained, if he kicks it up a notch and rubs my feet during the movie, let's just say that my work on this planet is done. Just kill me right then and there because my life will never get better than that moment. A foot rub and a giant TV? Dare I dream? Just thinking about it is making my relax-o-meter jump from "listening to Belle & Sebastian's earlier albums" to "sipping coffee and nibbling on whole wheat toast on a Sunday morning" to "getting a head massage from a muscular Swedish man with capable, trained hands." Holy shit! I'm so relaxed I'm practically melting into a puddle of purrs.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Cable TV

OMFG, HDTV! Seeing a dude who has cable TV is like winning the couch potato lotto. So many channels. So many shows. So many options. It's mesmerizing. It's like your fun options have quadrupled just because he has that cable box.

Wanna watch "The Mighty Boosh" on Adult Swim? Done. Or "Top Chef All-Stars" so you can marvel at how someone like Stephen exists? Go for it. Fuck, you can even watch the sorta-interesting new David Cross show on IFC about him going to Britain and acting like a dimwit. No one is watching it, but now you can if you want 'cause he has the channel. Success!

After dating tons of guys who've had the absolute worst television options imaginable, it's a downright delight to see his huge cable package. Who wants to slum it up by going back to the guy who only watches Netflix on Demand on his computer over his crackly Internet connection? Yeah right. Not this boob tuber. I wanna feel his powerful remote in my hand and I wanna bathe in the glorious light from a Showtime Original Series show. 

Cable TV, FUCK YEAH!

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: His Fancy Cheeses

From Erin, who would like more cheese, please.

Yes, please!

When I was in college, nothing would have turned me on more than the out-of-work artist. Both his mommy-issue paintings leaning languidly up against the wall of his shitty loft and an off-hand mention that his semi-broken up band once opened for Snow Patrol would have me staying the night. But since I'm only a stone's throw away from the big 2-5, I try to be a little more particular with the company I keep.

HOWEVER, if I were to now find myself in that loft, I may be able to overlook the broken keyboard, the empty, cracked CD jewel cases littering the floor, and the ratty dog who hasn't been walked in a week once he starts speaking in cheese.

Whisper those sweet nothings of Gruyere and Camembert and I'm yours. Never mind his shitty zine publication; he is Baudelaire, he is Cocteau. His collection of fromage is what the Louvre's collection is to art. When he whips out the Whole Foods crackers and spreads some Port Wine or Boursin with his Sur Le Table knife on those suckers, I can pretend that his art collective is really meeting with Dia next week, or month. Whatever.

I don't even mind if he's baked, as long as the Brie is too. And I can ignore the random dude sleeping on his La-Z-Boy if the Pont-l'Évêque is paired with a nice, deep Bordeaux from the Trader Joe's Wine Shop his brother works at.

Honestly, his Bushwick loft may be Kraft, but we might as well be in Montmarte with the size of his Port Salut.

Yum a-freakin' LUM. This all sounds spectacular. It's a known fact that girls love an array of fancy cheeses; it's basically female crack.

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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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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: His Childhood Board Game Collection

Sweeeeeeet!

Another rainy night in and flipping through the channels has lost its appeal. My eyes begin to wander until they fall to a shelf in the corner and are met with a cardboard explosion of childhood nostalgia: his board game collection. Chutes and Ladders! Museum Caper Clue! Blokus! Monopoly and Battleship! He even has a vintage Thundercats game! Hoooooooo! This is amazing. I will pass Go and I will collect $200, thankyouverymuch!

No iPod Scrabble app can come close to the feeling of playful face-to-face competition. I'm having so much fun that I don't mind setting up the game pieces on his dusty old carpet since he doesn't have a proper dining room table. I don't even care what it's like outside anymore.

All I care about is trying to hide my smile so he remains unaware that my B7 targeted missile is totally about to sink his aircraft carrier. Victory is mine! *snicker*

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Cool Magazines Fanned Out On His Coffee Table

Rad mags make me happy

What a delight, good sir! I see that you have an impressive display of periodicals. I have to say that it is a downright pleasure to kill time in your living room as you finish getting ready for our date. I'm flipping out while I flip through 'em. Wired, Atlantic Monthly, Paste, the New Yorker: oh my! Toss in a few British music mags and I'm good to go.

Just knowing that these babies are here puts me in a good mood. I feel like I'm in a hip dentist's office, which is not a bad thing. Having cool magazines fanned out on your coffee table shows me that we'll hit it off roughly 60% better than before I knew that these were in your house.

I'm especially pleased because there's not a dud in the pile. No Maxims, no Us Weeklys, no Playboys. Whew. If it's a single copy, that's passable. Maybe he got it for free on a flight. But if he were to subscribe to any of those, well, that just unacceptable. And, there aren't any pretentious art or fashion magazines in there either. Well done!

I'm picturing you filling out a subscription card for each magazine and popping it in the mail and it's the cutest thing I've ever thought of. Maybe you subscribed online? Doesn't matter. Just the idea of you making that a priority makes my heart hum.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: A Giant Bottle of Sriracha Sauce

Like Biz Markie sang, you've got what I neeeeeeed. And, I need some Sriracha sauce. I have a lot of hot sauce requirements, and this is one of them. And, it's radical when a guy steps up to the hot sauce plate.

We'll get some Chinese food delivered to his house and my noods (noodles) will need a bit of a kick. Before the words have left my mouth, he'll sprint up from his seat and produce the bottle of cock sauce faster than you can say "cream of someyoungguy." Honestly, if he were a superhero, his superpower would be to produce the Sriacha bottle in a flash.

 I've given up hope that a guy will have the following stocked in his house: fluffy towels, emergency stashes of candy, and/or sunscreen that hasn't expired. That's fine. I've come to terms with that.

However, knowing that he has a bottle of this stuff on hand makes it all semi-tolerable. I'll overlook his barren cupboards as long as he has a bottle of this spicy condiment tucked away in his fridge for kickin' up our takeout. Shine on, you crazy, Sriracha sauce-loving diamond.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Fancy Hand Soap

Seriously, this smells like Justin Bieber's neck

It's always a crap shoot when you pump the hand soap bottle in his house. There are a few ways this could go:

1. Worst case: It's empty. Lovely. It's like the fake turkey on the table in Arrested Development. Is this a prop? Am I on a film set? Does this toilet even work?
   
   
2. Medium case: It has been injected with faucet water in an attempt to re-animate it to its once soapy glory. Texture-wise, it feels like washing up in a boxer's spit bucket.
   
   Sorry, Dr. Frankenstein, but your efforts to transform this watery soap into actual soap literally fell flat. There is one bubble in my palm and it's looking at me like it's about to commit suicide. You literally burst this bubble's bubble by giving him no bubble buddies to pal around with. Pathetic!
   
   
3. Better case: It dispenses soap with respectable lathering properties. Dial or Dove liquid soaps fall into this category. His mom probably bought it for him at the dollar store. Fair enough.
   
   
4. Best case: This soap is something that he went out of his way to purchase or maybe it was a present from a gay friend. It smells pleasant yet neutral, like a basil leaf or sweet water. The lather could be described as luxurious, even. My hands are soft and smell like I high-fived nature. Well done! If there was a survey card about your hand soap, I'd rate it highly and enthusiastically write "keep up the great work!" in the comment section.

Yeah. Not to get all Martha Stewart about it, but a great hand soap goes a long way.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Toothbrushes Galore!

I will put up with a lot of shit in a guy's house--scratchy Ikea sheets, lumpy comforters that don't even keep me warm, one-ply TP--but, I can overlook a lot of these things if he offers me a new toothbrush like it ain't no thang. 

It doesn't need to be fancy. It doesn't need to spin around or have special comfort grips; just any old toothbrush is cool. Soft bristles are preferred, but I'm not gonna argue about that. A clean, new toothbrush is great any way you slice it.  

Here's the thing: I'm not always prepared to spend the night. Maybe I didn't want to assume anything was gonna happen, maybe my purse was small and I didn't want to pack a bunch of toiletries that may or may not be used. You know?

So, when he has a new toothbrush for me, I appreciate the gesture. And for the three seconds when I'm opening up the packaging, I'm thinking about how happy I am that I met such a radical guy. The other bonus part is that it's not weird that I have a toothbrush at his place. He gave it to me! I don't have to try and sneak it in, hoping that he doesn't get weirded out that our 'brushes are co-mingling before we're officially offical.

Personally, I think it's classy when guys have new toothbrushes on hand to give out. It's like when you get a free pack of cards on a flight; you'd be okay without them, but that little touch makes you enjoy your time with them that much more. I'm rubbing my eyes: Is this JetBlue or his crummy bathroom? I couldn't tell for a minute because he was giving me complimentary gifts just for showing up!

Guys, go to the dollar store and stash a handful of cheap toothbrushes somewhere. I'm telling you, girls will be thrilled about it. Trusssssst me on this.

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Things In His House That Make Me Glad: Fresh Milk For My Coffee

I take my coffee like how I take my men: sweet and weak. However, usually when a guy makes me coffee at his house, it only comes in one flavor: rocket-fuel exhaust. It's thick, strong, and bitter; yuck!

When I ask for a little bit of milk, he usually apologizes then looks down bashfully. "Sorry, babe. No milk. Is it cool if you just take it black?" I try to choke it down, but I usually toss it down the drain as soon as he turns his back.

However, once in a blue moon, he'll be like, "Yeah, here you go," and he'll produce some fresh milk from the fridge. Fuck yeah! Now we're talkin' here. It's such a small thing, but his milk-preparedness definitely makes me wanna come back. And, that just makes me glad.

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