Tada! I *DID* it. Approximately five months (and exactly 99 posts) ago, the funkybrownchick.blogspot.com began. Some day, I’ll tell you the full story, rationale, raison d’être for starting this blog; but, that day isn’t today. For now, suffice it to say that it’s not a coincidence that I started the blog when I did. But, whatever, all that stuff is about me and today is supposed to be about you. Yes, you.

I hereby declare today “No More Lurking” day at the Funky Brown Chick headquarters. What does that mean? Well, if you read my blog … and I know that you do because the sitemeter tells me so … here’s what I want you to do: Post a comment. Simply tell me how you originally discovered this site and/or the city from which you’re visiting. Just say hi. Give me a holla’ from Rolla! Or, wish me a Happy 100th Blogbirthday. Quite a few of you already regularly post comments, advice, words of encouragement and funny stories on a regular basis. I genuinely appreciate it from the bottom of my heart; it’s even as if I’ve come to know a few of you a little bit. Most of you, however, are lurkers. You know who you are. You come to the blog from time to time but you rarely, if ever, leave a comment. Why so shy?

But, really, it doesn’t matter if you’re a regular, lurker, first-timer or someone who stumbled here accidentally… Post a comment. Just this once. Pretty pllleeease? You can even post anonymously if you’d like. I’m really curious to know how each of my readers found my blog. And, it would be interesting to know just how many lurkers there are out there. So, pick up your champagne glasses folks, because I’m popping open the bubbly stuff! You ready? Okay. We’re going to celebrate the 100th post together … Come on. What are you waiting for? Say hi …

I started this blog a little less than five months ago. To my own surprise, a few people that have stumbled across the Funky Brown Chick in one way or another like it enough to link to it on their own personal blogs. I think that’s pretty special. So special that I’ve decided to take a moment to recognize each of them (in no particular order) …

I love you guys.

Sublimely Mundane, you inspired this post. I love your blog and I believe that you’re probably a better man than you believe that you are; The Fake Doctor, I absolutely adore you. Every time I log on to your site and discover a brand new post, I feel as if it’s Christhanukwanza and I’ve been given a nice little present! You’re a brilliant writer.

Siddity In The City, from reading your blog, I gather that we’re probably cyber twins. We share a lot of the same likes, live in the same city and have a common obsession for cute shoes and cute boys. Mama Christy, I am currently reading Memoirs of a Geisha because you recommended it; Rhyme Of The Day and Mint Chutney, you both rock for a million different reasons and especially because you live in Chicago. 1,000,001 reasons why I hate advertising, sending you much love from New York to Detroit; and Mitch, sweetheart, the girls in Vancouver just haven’t got a clue!

Tonito Bandito, you are my one and only cyber love, *mwah*; Guri, I’m glad that you switched languages because now I can actually read your blog. My ability to speak Norwegian is a little rusty. And, by “rusty” I mean nonexistent; LHC, you’re a reader and readers are wonderful people; All This and Nothing, you have such a sweet picture on your site; Monkeymagic, keep combating bystander apathy one incident at a time; and all of the women at Grow Some Testicles, you abso-fucking-lutely rock.

Chai and Sympathy, you’re my favorite vegan in the whole world; zellenblog :: sexy german blog, vielen dank! (Ik spreek helemaal geen Duits maar ik spreek wel Nederlands … dus is het een beetje maakelijker voor mij om jouw blog te lezen) The Write Grrl, I’m truly honored; The Movie Review Diary, I didn’t think it was possible for anyone to love movies more than I do. I’d challenge you to a “Movie-off” but I think I’d lose; Rogue Sun 2.0, thanks for the Halloween present, I thought that was really special; My Little Life, I think you’re my only reader in Seattle. How on earth did you find me?!; and Berry, the note from your landlord / management company made me laugh out loud! … I forgot to post a comment on your site about that.

erigby, your site won’t load on my dinosaur of a laptop.

If you haven’t already, please visit each of the sites listed above. They’re each uniquely wonderful. And, by the way, this list of links was brought to you courtesy of the omnipotent Technorati. If you link to my site and I didn’t thank you properly above, let me know … and please accept my millions and millions of apologies.

#5. I Stalk Matt Damon. Three years ago in Chicago. Matt Damon is in town for a scheduled interview at a radio station to promote one of his upcoming movies. Using a little ingenuity, Mags, Bro and I finagle our way unto the list of “approved persons” allowed into the building on the day that Matt Damon is there by posing as interns. We stalk the building for hours and, later, while standing directly in front of Matt Damon at the elevator, I try to sound surprised: “Oh. My. God. It’s. Matt. Damon.”

#4. Chasing George Wendt. Long ago, in London, “Norm” from Cheers passes me and my group of Australian friends on the street. None of the Aussies know who he is. I start to explain but he’s slipping away from us. I turn around, break into a sprint and chase after him. When I catch up, I’m winded and sweating like a maniac. I don’t know what to say, so I point and yell, “Noooooooorrrm!” He looks scared & annoyed and he shoos me away.

#3. “Mad Dog” Albright. Last year, at a book signing in Washington, D.C., the organizers’ directions are very clear: WRITE YOUR NAME ON THE POST-IT AS YOU’D LIKE MADAME SECRETARY TO PRINT IT. But, I’ve been waiting hours; I want more than my name. I write my instructions for Albright in neat handwriting, “Stolie,” I want her to write, “you are a worthy successor. Signed, Mad Dog.” A friend snaps a photo of me and Albright at the exact moment that she finishes reading my note. The look on her face? Priceless.

#2. I Stumble onto the Set of Ocean’s 12 and Meet Bernie Mac & Andy Garcia. A year or two ago or so, I’m in Chicago and I’m running late for work. I dash out of my apartment’s front door and land directly unto a movie set. “What the hell is going on?” I ask a nearby police officer. “They’re filming a movie,” he responds although I’ve already gathered that much. I ask him which movie and he tells me, “Ocean’s Twelve.” My mind races. George Clooney, Bernie Mac, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon and Andy Garcia are going to be in my neighborhood?!?! I smile devilishly at the cop, “I’m soooo calling in sick today.”

#1. My Gym Crush on Nate Berkus. (This is my favorite story because I met him immediately before he blew up …) Years ago, in Chicago, my every-other-day gym schedule overlaps with that of an extremely handsome young man. We make eyes. I smile. He smiles back. We make small talk at the water fountain. He’s smooth. He’s charming. And, he has a way of making the ladies swoon. (Little did we know; or, maybe we knew and just didn’t care.) I tell Mags about the new hot guy at the gym and I describe him. She says she has noticed him as well. Much later, my phone rings and it’s Mags. “Turn on your TV. Turn on your TV!!!!” They are re-airing the Oprah show. Apparently, The Hot Guy from the Gym has just become Oprah’s New Favorite Designer.

Technorati Tags: Andy Garcia, Bernie Mac, funky brown chick, funkybrownchick, George Wendt, Matt Damon, Nate Berkus, Oprah

Friday night. Three ladies and I are at an über-trendy Spanish restaurant, Euzkadi, in the East Village. We have reservations. Still, it takes almost an hour to be seated. Once seated, I notice the woman snugly edged into the tiny table next to ours. When my eyes eventually meet hers, she stares for a second too long then quickly looks away. I become somewhat entranced with this woman. “Hmmm,” I think to myself. “This is all very … peculiar.”

First, it’s Friday and the host-guy allows her to sit her body of 1 at a table for 2 without ordering for thirty minutes until her guest arrives. This is almost unheard of in is-everyone-in-your-party-already-here-if-not-we-can’t-seat-you-or-hold-your-table-for-you-Manhattan. Next, even though we order before they do, we wait an hour for our food but they receive theirs almost immediately. Next, when her guest complains that “it’s too damn cold in here” the waiter apologizes and adjusts the restaurant’s thermostat. And, finally …

She looks familiar.

It takes a second, but I get it. I have to tell my friends! Gina is sitting across from me. The restaurant is loud, so I think that I can say it to her without causing a scene. I smile and talk discreetly through my teeth without moving my lips. “Eena,” I start. “Dah oman ittin ecsta oooh iz andra uhllick.”

Gina stops talking to our other two friends and looks at me. “Why are you talking like that?”

My trick isn’t working. I wiggle my finger and Gina and I both lean across the table and toward each other so that our faces are almost touching. “Gina, don’t cause a scene, but I think the woman sitting next to you is Sandra Bullock.” Gina does exactly what I’d hoped she wouldn’t: she screams and starts staring directly at the woman sitting on her left. She’s worse than I am. I quickly start speaking through my teeth again, “Op it! Eena! Eena, op it!!!”

{…}

The rest of the weekend is a blast (… although, I’ve now seen the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island too many times to count). Hey, speaking of the weekend … by the way, hats off to Paul Tergat, Jelena Prokopcuka, the other top-finishing men and women, and the 37,316 other competitors who ran the ING New York City Marathon yesterday! Much hand-clappin’ and whoopin’ and hollerin’ to the wheelchair division and the hand cycle category finishers as well.

Times Square. The Statue of liberty. The Hasidim in Williamsburg. Central Park. Wall Street and the Financial District. The Met. MoMA. Guggenheim. Harlem. The Empire State Building. Puertorriqueños in the boogie down. SoHo. NoHo. Nolita. Chinatown. The lights on Broadway. Yankee Stadium. This is New York. I still have those, I-can’t-believe-I-live-here moments every now and then. Like today. Today, I have two more out-of-town guests coming to visit. They make a list of all of the things that they’d like to see. I take a look and I have “a moment” when I realize that I walk by almost everything on their list during a typical week in New York. I love this city.

And, the great thing about moving to New York City is that you’ll never miss your friends and family from back home. Everyone comes to visit for vacation or on business. Everyone. I’ve had 1 sister, 2 former flings, and 3 friends from home come to visit. Additionally, 1 friend came from Boston, 1 from California, 1 from D.C., and 1 from Indonesia as well. (My average is 1 guest every other weekend.) The 2 ladies that will arrive later this evening are a blast! We’re going to have a wonderful time. I’ll have to tell you all about it on Monday. I probably won’t have time to update my blog or read others until then. So, bookmark me and come back on Monday. Have a great weekend!

Wednesday after work, I meet my friend Tracy for drinks. We rendezvous at a lovely bar located in the 40s but tucked away from the hustle and bustle of Times Square. We chat about love and life; however, most of the conversation centers around our careers. Although neither of us knew it at the time, we both moved to New York (she six years ago, me six months ago) to begin new lives. We talk about the challenges of living here, namely, the prohibitive cost of living.

Then, we notice them.

British accents. Five of them. Immediately behind us. The boys start chatting us up. You know, the usual mating calls between Brit Boys and American Girls: we make fun of each others’ accents and correct each others’ English ( … though they, of course, claim that Tracy and I speak American, not English.) So, to be obnoxious, I say the words “KAM-bridge” and “LIE-chester” instead of “CAME-breedge” and “LES-ter.” And, Simon says, “you know that ending on that word [ … -shire …]? It’s not to be pronounced ‘shyer’ it is to be pronounced ‘sheer.’” We’re all laughing and talking and have a grand old time. Then, I see it for the first time. My eye catches the bling and I can’t stop staring at it.

“You’re married?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

He follows my glance down to his left ring finger. “Oh, you noticed that?” he asks as he looks away from me and at his friends. “I should have taken that off,” he says as he makes a joke and tries to remove his wedding ring.

The subject eventually changes. We all continue to talk with each other and laugh. It’s getting late and I’ve had one margarita too many. I should have stopped after the second one. The boys leave and we say goodbye. Tracy and I settle our tab and we leave the bar as well. In my past, I’ve hooked up with a boy or two even though I knew they had girlfriends. (In both cases, it began when the women were bitchy to me. I was young. Back then my rule was, “if you piss me off, I’ll screw around with your boyfriend if I think he’s cute.”) And, although I’ve had many hit on me, I don’t think that I could ever sleep with a married man. Even naughty girls have standards.