This Week: Carrying the Torch

As the world is overtaken with Olympic fever, we've admittedly been swept up in it too. We've watched the trials and tribulations of these world-class athletes, cheering them on from the comfort of our living rooms.

All this hoopla as made me think about what events I would win a gold medal in. So far, I can say with confidence that I would bring home gold if they had a category called "The Freezeout."

The Freezeout is when a guy has wronged you, so you decide to quickly sever every single channel that you communicate with him. A Freezeout is harsh, swift, and the closest thing to giving the finger to someone without actually extending your finger.

His MySpace top spot? DELETED.
His phone number? ERASED.
His email address? BLOCKED.

I'm like, the Michael Phelps of doing the Freezeout. I would set world records for the fastest freezeout in history! I'd be on the cover of Time and have my own Barbara Walters special.

But, until the International Olympic Committee recognizes my talents, I'll just have compete in the minor leagues on the amateur circuit. Keeping the Olympic spirit in mind, this week we're gonna talk about the boys that we have carried the torch for.

For those of you not familiar with the concept, "carrying the torch" means to maintain feelings for a person for an exorbitant amount of time. We're talking about, like, years. You silently watch as they go through girlfriend after girlfriend, patiently waiting for your spot in his queue. It's kind of like the lyrics to that Mr. Big song, "To Be With You."

Do you have any stories about how you've carried the torch for a dude? Drop a line to us at hi@shmittenkitten.com. If it cracks us up, we'll share it with the world!

Carrying the Torch: Alex P. and Me

Oh man, I am a card-carrying torch holder. Anyone who knows me can testify that there are a handful of guys that I have pined after for years at a time. I am a loyal lady, in that respect.

If I run into him, I get all fluttery and nervous. When I hear his voice, my heart does cartwheels. Every glance he sends me across the room feels like a little present. And, when I see him with his girlfriend, I let out a heavy sigh. Ok, this all sounds pretty emo. But, the point is, I will sit on the sidelines waiting for him and his lady to break-up so that maybe, just MAYBE, I can have a go at him. When he changes his status from "In a relationship" to "single," I throw myself a little party and high-five everyone in my immediate vicinity.

Amazingly, I don't even have to meet some of the boys I carry the torch for. For instance, my obsession with Patrick Stump is well documented. And, I still have a lingering attraction to Kirk Cameron, even though he is now a lobotomized born-again Christian. But man, Mike Seaver used to raise my temperature every time he'd grab a chair, spin it around and straddle it. Swoon!

My Longest Running Crush Award goes to one, tiny man that has captured America's heart even though he is a Cannuck. Donning a necktie, blazer and hockey hair, Michael J. Fox cast a spell on me. There was something about the spunky way he played Alex P. that I found completely charming. As a third grader, I watched Family Ties every week like it was my job. I would kiss the television when he would be on screen, but it only tasted like dusty glass, not like how I imagined his lips would be.

Back to the Future is still one of my favorite movies and that explains my strange attraction to guys in puffy vests. I delighted in all the clever ways he outsmarted Biff. And, when he invents rock 'n' roll (but, not really) and kicks over a monitor; how awesome was that?

As a kid, I snapped up every teen magazine he was featured in and plastered my room with his pin-ups. It was like a million Michaels in stereo, all smiling down at me.

Remember how in Teen Beat magazine they'd have wallet-sized pics of the hottest stars with some factoids about them listed on the back? They were like baseball cards for us girls except a bit more stalker-y. Well, I had one with Michael J. that I used to carry around in my back pocket and it listed his height as 5'5. I was excited because back then, I was 5'5, too! We were clearly a match made in heaven.

As an adult, I seem to go for guys that remind me of him. I once smooched a dude because he was 5'5 and I thought to myself, "Wow, this is what it would be like if I was with MJF!" Pretty hot. I first noticed my high school sweetheart because he had just gotten a haircut like Michael J. Fox. I saw him leaning against a wall with his hair all floppy and--I swear to God--I did a double-take then a full up and down body scan, just like how Emilio Estevez does it when Ally Sheedy gets that makeover at the end of The Breakfast Club. His Fox-y locks caught my attention for sure.

I still have a Michael J. Fox poster circa Teen Wolf on the back of my bedroom door. I told you I am a torch carrier! Well, I may never be with my dream man, but by the time I'm ready to settle down, maybe his son Sam will be legal. I will carry this torch into the next generation of Fox men.

Breaking News From Shannon: Flower Power!

I came home to quite a surprise the other day. This specimen of plant had been left by an unknown admirer on my doorstep ->

Yes, I know it's a little wilted; it sat out all day in the hot sun before I noticed it. But even if it's withered, it is indeed a flower nonetheless. I am tickled pink that somewhere in this city there lurks a man that would do something like this!

I can only assume that this lovely bloom was left either for me or for my sister, as our other roommate Richie has a ladyfriend. And I gotta say, I sure hope it was for me (sorry, Danielle!).

Who could this mysterious Romeo be and what will he leave next? A tastykake? A love letter? A treasure map to a secret mixtape? A severed doll's head? I hope it's not the doll's head. And if it's a tastykake, I like butterscotch krimpets the best.

Even if the flower wasn't intended for me, I gotta say, this was a really sweet gesture. I'm glad that at least one dude in this town has some chivalry left in him.

All you others take note: We girls like stuff like this! It's called being sweet, and it ain't hard to do. A little niceness goes a long way. Finding this flower on my doorstep made me smile from ear to ear. It was easily the cutest thing I've seen all week.

Well, actually, it's the second cutest thing 'cause some old guy had a baby bulldog in the park the other day, and it was probably the cutest thing I have ever seen in my whole life. Mama want one. But I digress.

Keep up the good work, mystery man! Thanks for your precious rose. It made my day.

Quick Rant: Dry Spells

I, Anna, am going through a pretty extensive dry spell this summer. It's been months since I've had a hottie turn my head. It's maddening! And, it's doubly annoying when I have a blog about dating because I need some fresh material to entertain you guys with.

The weird thing is, the longer I undergo this dry spell, the more picky I am becoming about who is worthy to break the curse! Just last night, I had a guy vibing me but I shrugged him off. Granted, he was wearing a shirt with skulls all over it and he was drinking PBRs, which wasn't exactly doing it for me. [Editor's note from Shannon: Actually, his shirt had skulls and the planet Saturn on it. Bizzare, yet kinda cool. Kinda. But still not good enough for my girl!] I''ve waited this long to smooch a fella, why should I pick him? Why should he make the cut? I guess I'll keep holding out. Grrr.

As a side note, I have had a few dudes ask me out on dates but not follow through on it. It's driving me crazy! It turns out that in my dry spell, they were just mirages. In essence, they were a tall, frosty glass of lemonade that turned into a cup of sand when I got closer. Seriously, I'm shaking my fist at the sky over it!

This is becoming a catch-22: I want to break my dry spell but I don't want to smooch just any old guy. Please, universe, take pity on me and send me a rad dude to canoodle with!

Hey, if Stella could get her groove back, why can't I? Ok, rant over.

Homeroom Annoucement From Shannon: It's Good To Be Back!

Hey all! I've been holed up in my study cave for the past few weeks so much that I had become the Taliban of studying. I've been communicating with the outside world via scraps of dirty parchment paper hauled back to civilization on the back of an aging donkey. I've finally crawled out from under my study rock and I have completed my exams as of last week. And, let me tell you, it's good to be back.

Today I rode my bike in the sunshine, had a bit of Sue's wonderful, magical juice in the park and didn't read anything besides my nerdo fantasy fiction novel. It was the first day I haven't studied in about a month, and man, it feels great!

I feel like when Pinocchio became a real boy. I'm like Rocky in Rocky II when he finally takes down Apollo Creed. I feel like Willy when he finally jumps over that annoying little kid and hits the wide open sea.

I'm going to a party tonight and gonna stay out late and NOT wake up at 7am to hit the books. I repeat, NOT.

Someone cue up "Eye of the Tiger" for me. It's good to be back, Philly! Didja miss me?

Now, let's get into it!

Even Shmitten Kittens Need Catnaps

Hey Dudez!

Shannon and I are gonna take a little summer break for the next week, but we promise that we will come back renewed and recharged with more funny stories than you could shake a funny story stick at.

Shannon has been hittin' the books HARD as she prepares to take her Board exams next week. Our girl has been studying day and night for this test and I'm sure that she's going to ace it. Let's all wish Shannon some good luck!

As she's been holed up with nothing but her medical textbooks and strong coffee, I've been lounging poolside, sipping fruity drinks with tiny umbrellas perched on the rim and spinning the Fresh Prince's "Summertime" on heavy rotation. You know how I do.

As we are summer vacationing, I should let you know that we only have about 15 beer koozies left. If you want yours, drop a line to me at anna@shmittenkitten.com. It's only $5 a pop, which is a really cheap price for bliss, don't cha think?

Random Weirdness: Brohemian Rhapsody

Normally these kinds of guys are only funny when they are quoting lines from Anchorman, but they really outdid themselves with this hilarious send-up of Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody." After we watched this, we had to set aside our extreme disgust at frat culture and give 'em props for this spot-on song.

Besides, maybe you have some little cousin who kinda dabbles in the frat thing, and to be honest, he's the one you look forward to hanging out with the most at family events. He says the funniest stuff under his breath and has you in stitches as you pass the stuffing. He was a die-hard Eminem fan in sixth grade, before he discovered jam bands and Frisbee sports. Now, he likes to binge drink and post the pictures on Facebook, he dons lots of shirts with horizontal stripes on them, and wears Polo Sport. Still.

And, this is his new anthem:

This Week: We Tip Our Hats

Dudes!

Come over here for a minute. Let's have a chat. We know we sometimes playfully chide you for your fashion indiscretions--cough, sports sandals and hemp necklaces, cough--but there are a few of you out there who are doing things right.

We here at Shmitten Kitten headquarters want to give you guys a high-five, a thumbs up and a pat on the back all at the same time. We want to tip our hats to you, if you will.

So that's what we're gonna do. This is a new feature where we will raise our glasses to the boys who make us wanna flip ours, all Dwayne Wayne style.

Are there any types of dudes you'd like to see us give props to? Drop a line to tips@shmittenkitten.com and nominate your faves. We'll lovingly create a tribute to the most worthy suggestions. Boys, we salute you!

Tip Our Hats: The Hot Professor

As Van Halen sang, I am "Hot for Teacher." I brought my pennnncilllllll!

There's nothing better than having a hot dude as your professor. Everyone wins in this situation. You attend every class because you want to see what he's wearing. You do really well on your homework because you want to impress him with your quick wit and creativity. He even makes you kick your wardrobe up a notch and smear on some eyeliner, the better to bat your eyelashes with.

The Hot Professor can make those long hours of class just float by on a daydream cloud. You doodle his name on your notebook as he dusts chalk off his Dockers. The best is when he dresses the part; knitted scarves--when seasonally appropriate--and leather patches on the elbows of his corduroy blazers. He makes academia foxy!

If you are feeling especially ballsy, you might even swing by his office hours because you are curious to see how his office is decorated (and if there are any pictures of his wife around). Spoiler Alert: his office is always a mess and he has a wacky coffee mug.

At the end of the semester, you playfully invite him out to grab drinks with the rest of your class and it's always a score when he says yes. All the girls angle to sit near him, but it's great when you are the one he chooses to sit with.

Bro'ing down in some low-scene campus bar, you disclose your summer plans to him and he talks about finally carving out time to work on the novel he's been meaning to write. After two beers, he tells you that he's always liked your writing and thinks that you should pursue it. It's awesome!

But, like Prince tells us, "Life is just a party and parties weren't meant to last." If you tried to hook up with this guy, it would be a disaster. It's best to savor his hotness, appreciate it, and move on. Besides, you'll need him as a reference when you look for a job after graduation.

We tip our hats to you, Hot Professor. We'd rate you a whopping four chili peppers on ratemyprofessor.com any day of the week!

Tip Our Hats: The Merch Dude

The Merch Dude is the unsung hero of the music world. He is the warm, smiling face stationed behind your favorite band's merch booth. He can toss a balled up t-shirt across the room like Zeus tossing a lightning bolt from the sky. He is usually bored out of his mind and texts his friends back home non-stop, but if he's in the mood to be social, flashing a smile at him can usually get you either a free pin or a sticker. If you sign the band's mailing list and crack a few jokes, you can maybe even swing both!

He isn't in the band, but since he has to make small talk with the fans all night, he knows where the best after-parties are. On average, he scores about 40% of the tail the guys in the band get, which isn't bad because all he has to do is load the truck, compute basic math when making change, and keep track of how many youth large t-shirts are left.

He's also really good at pointing at the cardboard sign listing all the prices when you have a question about how much something costs. Seriously, he's an A+ pointer.

The Merch Dude is the guy who drives the van across three states while everyone else sleeps. He can be the voice of reason or the source of insanity when it comes to partying. He is the only guy you could share a 3' x 6' space with for a month and not hate him at the end of it. He's an all-around solid guy, and he always gets props in the liner notes.

He is also severely malnourished, as he's subsisted on gas station snacks and veggie delite subs from Subway for the past three weeks. If the band stays over at your place, he is usually the one to sleep in the van and watch the equipment. He seems to run on adrenaline, coffee, and good vibes.

If you guys hit it off, he will also be a superb pen pal and might even send you postcards from the road. I've made a few lifelong friends just from shooting the shit with the Merch Dude and keeping in touch randomly over the years. In fact, I became friends with a Merch Dude at a punk show in high school and we hung out a few summers ago when he breezed through town!

And for that, we tip our hat to you, Merch Dude. Your positive attitude and happy-go-lucky demeanor is a ray of sunshine in the dingy, smoky club your friends' band is playing in.

Tip Our Hats: Old Skaters

When I hear the sound of skateboard wheels on pavement, I have to turn my head and look. I think I am preconditioned to do this and I blame it on being a preteen girl in the early '90s. I can't help it. It's the same impulse as slowing down to look at a gnarly accident on the side of the road. You know you shouldn't look, but strangely, you always do.

I feel old and creepy for checking out skaters because, nowadays, it's usually just a little kid rolling by, off to smoke cigarettes behind the Wawa or whatever it is 14 year old boys do. BUT, when I glance up at the approaching "wheel-on-pavement" sound, there is nothing better than seeing a guy in his late 20s or 30s tearing it up. I can barely stifle the "Skate or die, Dude!" that wants to come roaring out of my mouth.

The old skater still shreds it. He is like a god when he shows up at the skate park. All the young ragamuffins gather 'round with their jaws hanging open, as a guy who's almost as old as their dad busts out tricks they've only pulled off whilst playing Tony Hawk.

This guy has definitely broken an ankle or two in his lifetime. When prompted, he will tell you all about how he and Bam used to skate together back in the day. Don't even mention LOVE park to him unless you've got a few hours to kill. He'll be happy to tell you about the countless times he's had to outrun mall security and cops on bikes, too. You might even stay to listen if he has a nice smile and kind eyes.

He hasn't changed his look since 1989, but we've gotta say, he still looks good in a hoodie and Vans at age 30. This is one of the only kinds of guys who can pull off just wearing a plain, ratty grey t-shirt and jeans and still look smokin'.

OLD SKATERS, WE SALUTE YOU!

Tip Our Hats: Former Metalheads

We'd like to honor the oft-mocked and under-loved breed of dude: the Former Metalhead.

If you express just a slight interest in their metal background, they are quick to unearth their jean jackets from 6th grade with their favorite bands written on the back in Sharpie scrawl. Or, if they were more advanced/obsessed in their formative metal years, the jacket will have the band patches crudely sewn on.

As a party trick, they will whip out their high school yearbook pictures where they have flowing, long hair (before Nirvana made it passe). As they stare at the picture, they will let out a heavy sigh and say that they kinda miss the way it felt to bang their head with a full, unruly mane.

They still have their ticket stubs to the '89 Motley Crue/Guns 'n' Roses stadium concert and they think about framing it every few months but just haven't gotten around to doing it yet. They also still have their raggedy tour shirts from said concerts even though they reek of pot, armpits and mothballs; a toxic combo, if you ask us. Former Metalheads have very strong opinions about Metallica's discography and can argue at length about it for at least 30 minutes or two beers, whichever comes first.

Speaking of beers, you can find ex-metalheads drinking on pretty much any barstool at your local dive bar. It's a strange phenomenon: They are either totally irresponsible and never got their shit together or they are super-responsible and now have real jobs and pay their bills on time.

Former Metalheads, we tip our hat to you! Keep on rocking out in your cubicle desk jobs and telling us how "bands today just don't matter like they did back then."

[Editor's note from Shannon: I just have to stop and tip, no flip, my hat to the kid who was playing sick metal on WKDU at 7am this morning. Any kid metal enough to drag his bony butt out of bed to play Helloween that early gets a gold upside-down star in my book. I tip my hat to you, good sir! When and if the rarity occurs that I deviate from my morning NPR routine again, I hope you'll be slaying it on the air as I roam the dials. Keep up the good work!]

Tip Our Hats: The Belle and Sebastian Nerd

This guy single-handedly keeps record stores and the cardigan section of thrift stores in business. He is shy, soft-spoken and is what they call an "indoor kid." He might belong to a kickball team, but that's pretty much the only athletic activity he's ever participated in. Mathletes doesn't count.

He is socially awkward, not very good at making conversation, and doesn't really party. The only time he does anything close to partying is when he attends Philebrity's Annual Belle and Sebastian Dance Party, where he really lets loose. It's kind of cute, really. He dresses like he's a perpetual sophomore, which means that he has constant bed head, wears cool sneakers and rocks brown cords. We're willing to bet $10 that this guy had a radio show in college.

Good luck trying to make this duder your boyfriend. He is intimidated easily so to be his lady you're gonna have to be a frail, librarian-type who likes to knit mittens and bake meringue cookies. That's about as much woman as he can handle.

When he gets nervous or feels put on the spot, he basically shuts down all social capabilities. You can't just approach him at a bar and try to strike up a conversation. If you do, you can practically hear the "Error! Error!" message playing on repeat in his head as steam bellows out of his ears. It's best to just walk away slowly if that happens. Oh, and if this Belle and Sebastian Nerd were a cartoon, he'd be Milhouse!

We tip our hat to you, B & S Nerd, for being so reliably adorable. We are in the minority who find your social ineptitude kinda charming. Nice job!

See him in all of his meek, slouch-shouldered glory below:

Tip Our Hats: Mallpunks

This is gonna sound borderline creepy, but I, Anna, love mallpunks. I mean, I LOVE them! There, I said it.

With their jagged bangs in their face, with their smudged guyliner and their constant brooding: Hook me up! I love when they wear hoodies with the hoods up and shove their hands into the front pockets. They hate bands that sell out but seem to be at the mall every weekend. That's alright, I'll look the other way at their hypocrisy.

They aren't particularly nice people unless you are in a cool band or know someone in a cool band, but I kinda love how they mope around and take everything all seriously. But, how seriously can you take a 5'6 dude in girls' jeans? I just wanna pinch their little cheeks!

I'm gonna get flamed for this, but their music rocks too. Saosin, My Chemical Romance, Coheed and Cambria, Alkaline Trio, Motion City Soundtrack, Paramore, Cobra Starship, We The Kings and Fall Out Boy; the list goes on and on. Oh, and adding either The Misfits, Black Sabbath and/or the Descendants to their favorite bands section of their MySpace page shows me that they know what's up and that they can keep it real. Nice.

I tip my hat to you, mallpunks. One day, I hope to be the inspiration for the continual status updates on your carefully curated online profile and that you will put:

Status: Kinda pumped about this tall, rad girl I met at Warped Tour
Mood: Ninja

and have it be about me! Keep wallowing in your first world problems and applying makeup with an unsteady hand. Your angst looks very, very good on you.

Random Weirdness: This Clip of Mascot Bloopers Made Us Laugh So Hard That We Cried

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Press play. You won't regret it! That is, unless you hate fun.

Reader Submission: The Walk of SHAME!

A huge thanks goes out to Lora for this next story which makes me feel better about every stupid thing I've ever done. Keep up the good work, doll! You get a free Shmitten Kitten beer koozie for this gem. Here is Lora's tale:

On Halloween, I decided to be Spongebob, so I went out and got a HUGE authentic foam costume. It was more for crashing into annoying bikini-clad I'm a-cowgirl/naughty cop/nurse/fairy sorority bimbos at parties than anything else. So the costume was a hit and after much party hopping West Philly-style, I managed to fall down stairs, twice--although both times I saved my beer with no spillage!--and also got puked on by one of the aforementioned bimbos. [Ed. note from Anna: It's sounds like me at my sister's wedding last year. Hey-O!]

So I wasn't so cute by the time I blacked out because my knee was bleeding profusely from the second stair fall, and my yellow costume was now a certain shade of brown. When daylight broke, I awoke to find myself on a couch in some strange bedroom. To my horror, it was a fraternity house, and THANK GOD no one was sleeping next to me, as I had the worst hangover in the history of my alcohol-consuming career.

In full Spongebob attire, I tried to gather my things and figure out where the hell I was. I only managed to find one heel--yes, I wore stilettos and a mini skirt with my Spongebob foam costume. I started to go outside and stumbled down the stairs in one heel, with dried blood streaks all over my legs, puke and beer stains all over my costume and raccoon eyes from sleeping with my make-up on. Little did I know that the annual Powelton Village Clean-Up was going on, which is when every fraternity, sorority, and student organization on Drexel's campus walks around West Philly/Drexel picking up trash.

When I walked out the door, I was met by about 20 or so students with black trash bags wandering around the street. I started trying to run, which only brought more attention to myself. The students began howling with laughter and pointing and calling over their friends! I tried to tuck my head into my costume like a turtle by pulling it up over my shoulders, to no avail. Eight blocks to go at this point.

When I hit Race Street, things got worse because some of the trash-pickers began to recognize me and started screaming my name. I took off my heel and tried to run faster, but running barefoot in Philly is never fun. I passed one of my guy friend's house, and of course they were all outside as I stumbled past. Then they ran inside to get their cameras! I was fending that shit off like they were paparazzi or something as they tried to chase me down the street but I was outrunning them because they were laughing so hard that they couldn't catch their breath!

FINALLY, finally, I made it home and realized I had lost my keys. There was no way in hell I was gonna go back and find them, so I just crouched in my doorway, defeated, for a half hour until my roommate got home and let me in.

That was two years ago, but I still get shit for it. One time I met a guy in a bar who started to actually tell the story to me about some idiot girl who ran home in a Spongebob costume during the P-Village Clean-Up. "THAT WAS YOU?!?," he screamed when I admitted my guilt. At least I gave people stories to tell at bars.

Wow girl. You turned from Spongebob into Sponge-slob! We love it!

My freshman year of college I got invited to a Pimps 'n' Hoes party where everyone had to dress like either a pimp or a ho. I decided to be a pimp, of course. Well, that night was pretty crazy for me, and I ended up crashing on my friend's couch. The next morning I had to hobble my ass home in a full-on pimp suit. Imagine me in a polyester leisure suit, carrying a cane and wearing giant platform boots. To make it worse, somehow the heel of my boot had broken off the night before, so I was hobnobbing away as I tried to make it home. I remember kids hooting and howling at me the entire time. Cringe! I didn't think you could possibly do a worse walk of shame, but somehow Lora, you and Spongebob have managed to top me!!

I know we've set the bar kind of high here with these stories, but if you have any walk of shame stories of your own that you'd like to submit, please email us at tips@shmittenkitten.com. And, we promise to withhold your name if you'd don't wanna further your shame. Girl Scouts' honor.

You Know You Want One!

Hey y'all! We just wanted to say thanks for all the positive feedback and encouragement we've received over the past few months. It ain't easy putting your trials and tribulations out there on the Interweb for all to see and we're happy that others can relate, or at least see the humor in what we do!

This blog is just as much about poking fun at ourselves as it is about poking fun at the different characters we see around Philly, and we're stoked that so many people are pickin' up what we're putting down. Thanks for your support!

Ok, I'm getting so EMO that if I don't knock it off soon, I'll have to drive myself back to my parents house in the Jersey suburbs, lock myself in my darkened bedroom and then listen to The Promise Ring/Rites of Spring all night while I write bad poetry 'zines and shine up my Buddy Holly glasses.

But seriously. Thanks.

And now, (insert trumpet horn) we introduce, (insert drum roll) a very special item for the true fans and rad supporters of this blog (insert more intense drum roll). For the first time ever in the history of Shmitten Kitten (a gong bangs) and just in time for bar-b-que season (light show + fog machine) you, yes you, can be the proud owner of (insert wicked MC5 freak out session) your very own (insert 2001: A Space Odyssey opening riff)

SHMITTEN KITTEN BEER KOOZIE!!!

WOWIE!!!!

Designed exclusively for us by the beautiful Miss Melanie, these bad boys are selling for $5 bucks each. Get yours soon, because we only made 50 of 'em. And that's not all! Not only will they keep your drink frosty-cool, they also magically prevent the terrible "Pabst-craps" that happen after drinking certain canned beverages!! **

Here is a picture of me, trying one out:

LOOK HOW MUCH FUN I'M HAVING!!! YAY!

And here's a close up:

That's a close up of the beer koozie, not me, in case you were confused.

Note the grassy terrain. That's right, S.K. beverage koozies can go anywhere you do: in the park, on the back of the school bus, behind the girls' locker room. How versatile. And FUN!

Snap 'em up. Check out our store for ordering information.

**not really. Nothing can prevent the dreaded Pabst-craps except maybe having a better beer instead.

This Week: The Wake 'n' Cringe

The wake and cringe happens to the best of us. The scenario goes something like this: You had one too many Philly specials last night. Really, just having one Philly special is one too many if you ask me, but I digress.

Groaning, you sit up in bed and wipe last night's smeared mascara from under your eyes. For a second you feel like Courtney Love as you stagger to the bathroom for a cup of water. You gulp it down in an effort to relieve your severe case of cottonmouth. As you inspect your reflection in the mirror, you see a handful of unexplained scrapes and bumps scattered across your body.

Hey, where'd that creepy bruise on your thigh come from? Oh right, you fell off the stage dancing to Girl Talk. Twice. Slowly the mist of your hangover begins to clear and then the awfulness of last night's antics come flooding back to you in what can only be described as a cringestorm.

Did you really say those things to your ex last night? Oh yes, you did. Your stomach flip-flops as you check your text message outbox. What were you thinking? You acted a fool and everyone knows it. Oh, Christ. Who hasn't done the wake 'n' cringe?

The following are a few tales of our own bouts with the wake 'n' cringe. Enjoy and feel free to submit your own cringe-filled morning stories in all their glory to us at tips@shmittenkitten.com.

Wake 'n' Cringe: Note to Self: Shut the F* Up

Usually, I'm pretty low key. I would like to think that most days I maintain my cool. But unfortunately for all parties involved, there have been some instances of wake 'n' cringe that have clouded my adult life. I wish I could borrow the Delorean from good ol' Doc Brown so I could promptly go back in time and stop myself from being such a fool. My most recent wake 'n' cringe happened this morning, and was actually the inspiration for this blog topic. More on that later.

My most horrible wake 'n' cringe was probably the morning after I actually did fall off the stage at Johnny Brenda's while rocking out to Girl Talk. I vaguely remember high-fiving strangers that night and apparently I asked Philly's most popular fun maker to dance with me, to which he politely declined/laughed in my face.

Or maybe my worst wake 'n' cringe was the morning after I kissed the drummer of my old band, who is the closest thing to a kid brother I've ever had. (I love ya, Chris!) Wow. It's mornings like these that make me want to throw on some Youth of Today, X up my hands and forget that bars ever existed.

So, last night was the Forth of July and I was in rare form as I celebrated America's birthday. I had a terrific time eating veggie burgers and dancing the foxtrot with cute boys from Fishtown. I even re-friended my arch nemesis, which--believe it or not--I actually feel pretty good about. The night was pretty OK for me, except for one brief encounter that I've been cringing about all day.

I'm hanging out, having a fantastic time at the party and I look up and see none other than the cutest boy in Philly enter the room. I don't know why I think this boy is so adorable, but I do. He's so cute, that I posted a Craigslist's "Missed Connection" about him a few months ago. Nothing ever came of it. I guess he doesn't read them. I don't know anything about this guy, not even his name, but I see him everywhere and my neck is still hurting from all the head turning he's got me doing. I'm gonna get whiplash if he doesn't ugly himself up pretty soon!

As a side note, I want to send a formal letter to Philadelphia Brewing Company, reprimanding them for making such tasty beers. If their Walt Wit didn't taste like tiny sips of fermented heaven, I may not have drank three of them before sauntering up to cute boy and doing the following.

Me: "HI!"

Cute boy: "Uh. Hey."

Me: "I know a secret about you."

Cute boy: "You do? Wait, what? What is it?"

Me: "I can't tell you here. There's too many people around and it's embarrassing."

Cute boy (obviously stressed out): "No, you have to tell me! How do you know a secret about me??? I don't even know you!"

As you might have guessed, my juicy secret was only that I had posted a Craigslist's "Missed Connection" about him. Big whoop, right? In my PBC altered consciousness, I envisioned a beautiful moment of telling him that simple fact. In my ideal fantasy world, this guy would have flipped head over heels right then and there and promptly made me his girl. In five years time, he'd be driving our children around in a Volvo stationwagon and would make the family pancakes on Sunday mornings. But of course, nothing of the sort happened. Not even close.  

I should bust out my old YM magazine from the early nineties and retake the "Are you a good flirt" quiz, because obviously I need to beef up my skills.

Cute Boy demanded that I tell him my "juicy" secret. I led him downstairs to a not-so-secluded room filled with people. I hope none of them overheard this terrible conversation. Cringe cringe cringe! I gazed up into his doe-like eyes and disclosed the fact that I had indeed posted a missed connection about him. His reaction was basically this:

Cute boy: "Um.....wow. Ok."

I don't know what reaction I expected. An Irish Jig? An around the world high five? The running man? Maybe he was supposed to pull some fireworks out of his back pocket and do an impromptu light show. I don't know. But I instantly felt really stupid for doing this. Let's recap how utterly retarded I am.

1. I posted a missed connection that was missed by my dream man. It was most likely missed for a reason. The world works in mysterious ways, you know? The fact that I even posted this thing is embarrassing enough. But why stop there?
2. I see my cute boy and decide that I am going to tell him all about the missed connection I posted. Forget conversing like a normal person. Oh no, I have a special form of acting a fool designated for boys as handsome as this one.
3. I do the aforementioned act, and he looks like a deer in my terrible drunk driving head lights. Wow. Sorry, guy!

So that was awkward and weird. I ended up slinking away from him and then promptly forgetting all about my bad conversation judgment until today when I cringed during my morning toothbrushing.

In other cringe-worthy news, I also remember tripping on the last stair on my way out of the party, an act that basically everyone at the party saw and then laughed at. So. Not. Cool. Excuse me while I go choke on my Tom's of Maine Cinnamint whilst banging my head into my bathroom's vanity.

Now my neck will be hurting from all the sand I plan to stick my head in when I see cute boy coming! D'OH!

Wake 'n' Cringe: The Hammock Request -SHOT DOWN!

There are have been way too many incidences where I have engaged in the wake 'n' cringe. For handy cringestorming, they're usually right in my text message outbox; my sloppy, late-night "great" ideas recorded for me to slap my forehead over come daybreak. Recounting all of my wake 'n' cringe moments would take an entire army of blogs and I'd have to hire assistants to type it all out. Since I don't have that kind of time or cash to throw around, I'll just relay my most recent instance of the wake 'n' cringe.

I was at a house party in Fishtown the other week. Upon arrival, the host--let's call him MC Hammock--gave me a tour of his new house and lead me out to the patio so we could catch up a bit. I used to smooch this guy a bit last year, so we have a eensy teensy tiny bit of history between us. No big whoop.

As I surveyed the backyard, I noticed a hammock perched precariously between two trees. I blurted out that we should go snuggle in the hammock together and raised my eyebrows to really drive the point home.

He gave me this look that was part-confusion and part-wtf. I don't even think he said anything; he just straight-up walked away. Crickets chirped and tumbleweeds rolled around in his backyard. Things got very quiet. I looked over at the superfun netted-contraption. It swung in the breeze ever so slightly, as if to mock me and my total crash and burn.

So, I pretended like nothing happened and nonchalantly walked back into the party. In fact, I totally erased the entire exchange from my memory as soon as it happened. It was like the Men in Black themselves swooped in and wiped my memory clean.

Until the morning. Over breakfast, Jenna playfully chided me about how I propositioned the dude. Apparently, I was all, "Stop! Hammock time!" and he was all "U Can't Touch This." I cringed so hard I wanted roll up into a ball and roll myself into a neighboring county. *heavy sigh*

Awww, man. I made a snuggle request and was denied! That was stone cold. I felt just like when Wayne wanted to play "Stairway to Heaven" at the guitar store and the store clerk just pointed to the "No Stairway to Heaven" sign on the wall. "No Stairway? DENIED!"

Well, some day, when I get a house with my own backyard, I'm going to erect the most amazing tricked out hammock with fluffy pillows, drink holders and a boomin' sound system embedded in the ropes. I'll swing in it all day long, sippin' fancy drinks. And, I'll throw my own hammock snuggle parties and invite all the hottest guys in the neighborhood. We will swing and snuggle until the sun comes up. Hey, a girl can dream, right?

Random Weirdness: America! Fuck Yeah!

Good morning, hangovers! I hope everyone's Fourth of July was as fun as mine. I didn't think I could top last year when I rode my bike in the pouring rain to see Hall and Oates, but drinking beer and shooting off bottle rockets with friends turned out to be way more fun than being soaked to the bone, trying to jam on "Maneater."

Anyway, I thought you all could use a bit of random weirdness to get yourselves up and pumped for next year's 07/04.



AMERICA! FUCK YEAH!!

Dude Addendum: The Quizzo Cutie

After playing some bitchin' quizzo at the Abbaye last night, we got inspired to draw this adorable breed of Philly guy. For those of you not in the know or from out of town, quizzo is a Philly phenomenon that combines two of our favorite activities: drinking and trivia games! Quizzo is basically a pub quiz where you answer trivia questions whilst drinking beers. I don't know why quizzo is only popular in Philly, because it should be played the world over!

Anyway, this guy is the purr-fect guy to bring along to quizzo night. Either he's recently single and looking for a low-key way to mingle or he's in a five year-long relationship with a girl who looks like a cross between Tiny Tim and a forest mouse and this is his one night to hang out with his college buddies. Just to clarify, we mean the cute little Tiny Tim from A Christmas Carol, not the freakish oaf who plays a ukulele.

This Quizzo Cutie is stoked to be hanging out on a "school night" and by his second beer, he'll high-five everyone on his team when they get a correct answer. By his third beer, he might even playfully trash talk the team sitting next to him. He's all fun and every quizzo team should have one of these guys on it.

Our Winning Entry: The Rittenhouse Square Lawyer

Big ups go out to Rachel who submitted this award-winning idea, The Rittenhouse Square Lawyer. He talks endlessly about his high power and high-paying job. To show that he is a "good guy," he has pictures of cute godchildren/nieces/nephews/puppies or kitten (his or friends) as the screensaver on his cell phone.

He would pay for your first date on his Amex while casually dropping that he was at the top of his law school class. He wears expensive cologne and thinks that by treating you to a fancy dinner he gets to jump your bones at the end of the date. He can be spotted at "the square" with his Nalgene bottle in hand and wears dark sunglasses so he can stare at all the girls without getting caught.

He's harmless for the most part, that is unless he's blowing off steam from a tough day at the office and gets rip-roaring drunk by 7:30pm. Then, he just gets annoying. Well, more annoying than usual.

Random Weirdness: Ribo-Flavin'

Our lives are filled with random weirdness. In fact, the weirdness is usually what gets me through the day. Now Shmitten Kitten offers you little bits of random weirdness to help you through yours. Here's a weird conversation that I just had with my sister. Enjoy!

Dan (reading a box of crackers): "What's riboflavin?"
Me: "Vitamin B2, I think."
Dan: "Is that good for you?"
Me: "Yeah."
Dan: "Mmmm, ribo-flavor'."
Me: "If Flavor Flav had a son and he was super health conscious, he would be Ribo-Flavor Flav."
Dan: "Ha! And he would play a flute that was really a hollowed out carrot."
Me: "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! Yes, yes he would."

This Week: Worst Blind Dates

Blind dates, by nature, are anxiety-ridden and stressful. Both parties involved show up with their own set of expectations and often times, these expectations differ wildly. For instance, we expect them to be gentlemanly, clean, and polite. Pretty crazy, right? And, God knows what they expect from us. A pulse and a pretty face, perhaps?

Web sites like MySpace and Facebook can help a little bit because you can at least see what the person looks like before you commit to spend time with them. But, even knowing what they look like won't prepare you for their lisps, bad breath, and terrible manners. Oh no, you don't get to find that out until they are sitting across the table asking to split the bill.

This week, we are recounting our most terrible blind dates. If there was a hall of fame for horrible dates, these guys would be in it. If you have any bad blind date stories you'd like to share--even if they were with us!--send 'em on over to tips@shmittenkitten.com. Enjoy!