Guys That Taxi Late Night Drives

There has been mention of how I don't ask for much of men here on this blog before. I'm still trying to decide whether it is because my mother raised me to do things myself or if my social upbringings consistently remind me of its pesky behavior. Either way, I like to think I owe little favors because I've asked of little favors myself.

However, there is one particular favor I find myself asking for one too many times: 

(some place the moon is shining bright, a phone rings)

"Hi. Can you take me home?"

Guys That Will Enjoy Films I Enjoy

I recently took a literature elective on "film analysis" of which was led by one of those professors that believe it's a great idea for students to introduce themselves at the start of a course. Name, major, year, blah blah your-favorite-movie. The "What's your favorite..." series of questions always rubbed me the wrong way because I don't particular have strong opinions on much, but this one in particular was something I didn't have to sit and think about. But I have to admit, as a string was being strung through cult followers of friendly and nonfriendly self induced bloodshed, and action junkie jocks still wondering whether the totem top stopped or not, I couldn't help but feel as if I were going to be judged as the lonesome femme without hope of romantics when I spoke.

Granted, we were able to reason our choice with a few statements in addition to a mere title, but as I started to speak about Marc Webb's great tale of romantic moral and his ability to portray that as the physical nonsensical reality that it is...I lost my own tongue of sense and cut it short to a mere, "yeah, ya know, I liked his composition."

The thing is, despite it's poignant tagline, I don't think people really grasp the idea that (500) Days of Summer isn't a love story.

Guys That Can Appreciate The Powerpuff Girls

The Powerpuff Girls is the foundation of my childhood. I lived, ate, and breathed PPG. Literally. Everything from the television series, to the movie, to the backpacks and school supplies, to the stuffed dolls, to the coloring books, to the Halloween costumes, and even the cereal (whose superpowers came in the form of pop rock candy), made up the little joy found in my upbringing. Now and days, I get that joy from the "Ahh" moments of talking nostalgic about the 90's with other early 90's/late 80's babies. Yes, among conversations of Britney Spears, Von Dutch trucker caps, and AOL dial up, I would be the one to bring up PPG,