Sex, drugs, the mafia and the Daily Show. Illinois politicians are living proof that, if you eat too much corn, it will eventually make you goofy. And, if you aren’t careful, excessive corn-munching could turn you into a gangster. Yes, I know that corn is nutritious. And, yes, I know there are a lot of politicians for whom Illinois voters can be proud. (For example, the only black US Senator — the deliciously sexy Barack Obama — is an Illinoisan; additionally, thirteen years ago, Illinois sent the Senate its first black woman ever, Carol Moseley Braun.) But, still, it’s true: the corn has made Illinois-elected politicians downright goofy … and some have even gone so far as to become gangsters. I have evidence:

ROD BLAGOJEVICH
Because the Governor (affectionately known to Illinoisans as “G-Rod”) supposedly didn’t know that the Daily Show spoofs the real news, he went on the show to give a serious interview. Puzzled when the interviewer asked him if he was the “gay governor”, G-Rod continued to talk for a while but eventually became confused and turned to someone off camera to ask, “Is he teasing me, or is this legit?” That’s just goofy. [Read the news articles.]

BETTY LOREN MALTESE
Maltese is the former mayor of Cicero—the Chicago suburb whose claim to fame is that it’s where Al Capone established his empire. In federal prison since 2002, Maltese is currently serving an 8-year sentence for mafia relations and corruption. Yep. Some people think Betty is a gangster. And, some people think that she looks pretty goofy. Is it possible? Goofy *and* a gangster?

JACK RYAN
This young, slick, wealthy, investment banker with a winning smile challenged Barack Obama in the 2004 Senate Race. Ryan eventually dropped out after: (1) people discovered that he paid an aide to stalk Obama and (2) it was made public that Ryan’s ex-wife, Star Trek’s Jeri Ryan, divorced him because he dragged her to sex clubs and wanted her to do a live sex show! I think that’s, well, goofy.

FINALLY, DA MARES
(translation: “The Mayors”)
Wikipedia has an article on the Daley Machine; read it. From sneakily sending wreckers to an airport in the middle of the night [little Daley] to notoriously getting caught on camera mumbling “fuck you, you Jew motherfucker” at a Democratic National Convention [big Daley], the Daleys were/are quite skilled at attracting attention to themselves. The “fuck you” comment is not only goofy, it’s kind of stupid and racist; further, reporters around the world said the airport incident was reminiscent of Chicago’s gangster past. Seeeee? There we have it, again, folks: goofy *and* gangster. Need I say more? Trust me, my sweeties. Just to be safe, don’t any eat corn this weekend.

Technorati Tags: BETTY LOREN MALTESE, DA MARE, Democratic National Convention, G-Rod, Governor Rod Blagojevich, Illinois, JACK RYAN

I’m a single woman in New York City. New York is possibly one of the worst cities to live if you are a single woman because, supposedly, there are 3 women for every 1 man here. The odds are in their favor. So, NYC men tend to multi-task, multi-date. I’m not used to this phenomenon. I’ve never “dated” more than one person at a time … Until now.

Currently, I am semi-dating 3 boys. I’ve been dating Boy #2 for about a month; the other two boys are newer. If I had my choice, I would devote my entire heart, soul and full attention to Boy #2. But, at the moment, that isn’t an option. (No, he’s not married or otherwise committed.) So, when Hot NYPD Guy asks me for my number, I give it to him. And, when he asks me out, I go out with him. And, when he kisses me at the end of the date, I enjoy it. He is, after all, really hot. The third boy, Mr. Responsible, is a bit older. I don’t know how I feel about him just yet, but so far so good.

Given that this is my first time multi-dating, I’m a bit conflicted. I absolutely adore Boy #2, so dealing with him has been the easiest. I’m totally and completely honest with him: I’m only dating other people because you don’t want to be exclusive, but what I really want is to only date YOU. Things are a bit more tricky with the other two boys. QUESTIONS: (1) What’s the best way to tell Mr. Responsible, I like you as a person but, right now, I’m not sure if I want to date you romantically? (2) What (if anything) do I tell Hot NYPD guy about Boy #2?

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RANDOM FOOTNOTE: Look at the column to your right. No, look up. Yes, there. Under the chicken. In case you haven’t noticed, for your viewing pleasure, I have added a “Shortcut to the Boy Snacks” menu. Now, jumping directly to the Boy Snack of your choice is easier than ever. FunkyBrownChick dot Blogspot dot com: sharing tales from NYC dating life with all of humanity, one Boy Snack at a time …

I had big thoughts about little people the other day. You know, being unemployed and all, I have tons of time for thinking. I’ve been jobsearching, sightseeing and going on dates too, but more on that tomorrow. Today, we’re talking about midgets. Little people. In particular, a song about little people. I’d actually never heard of the term “little people” before I saw a random documentary on dwarfism. And, I can’t remember if the word midget has fallen out of fashion or if the term is actually offensive. Perhaps, much like using the word “broad” to refer to a woman, it’s a bit of both?

At any rate, back to the topic at hand. The song. Do you remember that show Ally McBeal? If I remember correctly, Randy Newman’s song Short People was featured on an episode. A woman sang a soulful rendition of it at the funeral of a man who hated little people. Now, I’m no amazon woman; with my shoes on, I’m only 5’7” / 1.68 meters. Maybe Short People is about me? Below are the lyrics. Here are my questions: (1) Do you know if the song was written about LITTLE people or just us SHORT folks? (2) How tall are YOU?


Short People

Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
To liveThey got little hands
Little eyes
They walk around
Tellin’ great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little feetWell, I don’t want no Short People
Don’t want no Short People
Don’t want no Short People
`Round hereShort People are just the same
As you and I
(A Fool Such As I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(It’s A Wonderful World)

I am updating my profile. Blogger randomly generates a quirky question each time you save changes to your profile. My question requires me to be a musician: You’ve broken up with your old band and are about to release your first solo album. What would you write in the liner notes?

I try to type the answer in the little box they’ve provided, but I’m limited to 150 characters. So, instead of posting it there, I’m posting it here. Here we go … Pretend that my album, Yo Soy La Chocha De Tu Madre, is just about to drop …

Yo Soy La Chocha De Tu Madre

Track 1. Emancipation of Stolie
Track 2. I Love Double Burgers
Track 3. A Girl and Her Blog
Track 4. F - - k Me Paul Walker
Track 5. Feel Good, Come to Mama
Track 6. Single. Sexy. 30-Something.
Track 7. I Shot 50 Cent
Track 8. Women Can Be Misogynists Too
Track 9. H-O-T-T-I-E-E-E featuring Lenny Kravitz
Track 10. The Soul of a Woman
Track 11. You Make Me Believe in Blondes
Track 12. My Kind of Hometown: Chicago
*Bonus Track* I Love Double Burgers. 2 Patties. (The Remix)

Thanks … Thanks be to God above for inspiring me to leave that deadweight of a band behind. This diva was born to be on stage. Alone.Sophie, baby, I love you! I have the best family in the world. Jimmy, take care of her or I’ll kick your ass. To my two darling nephews: I’m putting aside a little bit of the money that I generate from album sells. After I take my trips around the world, buy an apartment in Manhattan and a summer home in South America — I am paying your college tuition, sweeties.

I have nothing but love in my heart for Michael Ealy, Denzel Washington, Taye Diggs and a bunch of other fine brothers. David Beckham, Paul Walker, and Jason Lewis — you inspired the song “You Make Me Believe in Blondes”.

Sending a shout out to the Stolie Nation and all of my favorite bloggers. You know who you are.

Mags, Bro, Pegs and Maria. I love you guys.

To everyone at Roc-A-Fella Records, thank you for supporting my work. When I showed other record labels my demo tape, they shuddered in fear. They refused to release my album because of the track “I Shot 50 Cent.” But, you held your ground. For that, I am indebted to you. Don’t worry. He’s not going to kill you. Or me. God bless.

We’ve all been there. You know, there. You’re on Google and you’re looking for new kissing techniques, photos of that hottie from Sex and the City, or whatever. Most of the time, you get exactly what you want. However, sometimes you don’t get what you want. Why this topic? Well, every day, millions of peo … okay, okay, you got me, it’s more like “1 or 2 people” but, whatever, work with me … millions of people arrive at the FunkyBrownChick Dot Blogspot Dot Com by Googling their way here in search of something else.

According to my site counter, the other day someone arrived at my blog by Googling Black Women Love Colin Farrell. Yes, it’s true that I randomly mentioned Colin Farrell’s dick in one of my posts. (Jay, stop salivating.) And, yes, it’s true that I’m a black woman. But, no, babies; I have not actually seen Colin’s scholong. And, I don’t know whether it’s true that black women love him more than women and/or men of any other skin shade do. So, I’ve decided to invent the term “Funky Brown Chicky Brown Bomb” to refer to this and a few others occasions in which Google, Yahoo, MSN and other search engines point their users to my blog on accident. And, because I love the Funky Brown Chicky Brown Bombs so much, I’m going to begin inducting them into the Stolie Nation. Every time a really good one comes up, I’ll post about it and add it to the list.

All the foxy people of the Stolie Nation rock!!! Big huge, drippy, wet kisses on the lips of all who left supportive comments the other day. (By the way, I also wrap my boney-ass brown arms around the lurkers who read but did not comment. You know you love me!! And, I love you, too, babies.)

I’ve been busy sending out resumes and doing jobsearch-related stuff. I’ve also been following up with a couple of leads for temporary work assignments. (I need to do something in the short-term to get money coming in the door until I can find another full-time, professional job.) The next few weeks will probably be very difficult, but I’m going to do everything in my power to make it work.

The great news is that I am not leaving New York. I’ve been in situations as difficult or, in some cases, more difficult than this before. New Yorkers tell me that the first year in the city is the most difficult year. I believe them. I’m facing a few challenges at the moment, but life goes on. And, for me, for 2006, it will go on in New York City.

But, let’s talk about other news. Happy news. How about Valentine’s Day? Yesterday. I meet Boy #2 at his house when he gets off of work. He cooks me an amazing dinner and follows it with heartfelt words of encouragement … and a very, very pleasurable massage. The rest of the evening goes well, too. So, um, that was my Valentine’s Day. How was yours?

Okay, I have really bad news kids. I just lost my job. I wasn’t sure whether or not I was going to blog about this. In the end, I decided that I would because, if you’ve read the post So, Come Here Often?, you know that I started this blog to chronicle the ups *and downs* of my recent move to New York City.

So, what happened with the job? I hadn’t been there for a very long time and I was still in that evaluation period during which they determine if I am a good fit for the company and I decide whether the company is a good fit for me. In the end, we mutually agreed that it wasn’t working out.

I took the weekend off to regroup. I cried. I prayed. I called friends (I love you guys!!!). And, now that it’s the start of a new week, I have to face the real challenges that lie ahead. I haven’t told my family (my sister) yet. We’re different. For her, life is about finding your safety blanket and wrapping yourself in it. For me, life is about stepping out into the unknown and challenging yourself to develop to your fullest potential. If I were to call her now, she would feel really frightened for me … and she would tell me to move back to the Midwest. That’s not what I need to hear right now. And, more importantly, I don’t want her to worry.

Boy #2 has been unbelievably supportive. I’ve seen him 4 times since my first post about him 5 days ago. We now see each other and/or he calls me almost every day; he even cooked dinner for me. I’m not naïve enough to think that everything is fine with the boy because this is actually quite a horrible time to meet even the most wonderful person. I don’t know where things will go with Boy #2 but, for right now, I feel okay. Oddly enough, approximately 3 months ago, I said fabulously single New York women never seem to have all three at the same time: an apartment, a job and a boy. “Once I find [a] boy,” I wrote, “I’m totally convinced that I’ll probably lose either my job or the apartment.”

Life is so incredibly odd.

As you may remember, I am battling a mouse (mice?) in my house. The other day, I purchase 2 spring traps and 4 containers of poison. I also call my landlord to schedule an appointment with the exterminator. I am pleasantly surprised when he tells me that he will come to the apartment to locate and plug whatever dark crevice from whence the mouse came. The war wages on.

Yesterday. I return home and I notice that one of my spring traps looks different. I cautiously walk up to it to get a better look. That’s when I see a sight that totally abhors me. The trap is still set, but the peanut butter is gone and the mouse is nowhere to be seen. The sneaky bastard somehow managed to eat all of the peanut butter without getting caught in the trap. He ate my peanut butter. My delicious, au natural, organic peanut butter. Now, not only do I still have a mouse terrorizing me, I’ve also unwittingly filled his belly with a nice meal. The thought infuriates me. “Bitch, I’m from Chicago,” I yell out to the unseen mouse as I wave my fist in the air, “don’t you know that I will shoot you?!”

I call the landlord and explain what happened. “Yes, he ate my delicious peanut butter without getting caught in the trap. Can you believe it?”

He laughs. “Yes. I can believe it.” His tone changes. “These are New York City mice that we’re talking about,” he says. “9 million of them have been battling the city for years; they’ve learned a thing or two. They’re smarter than we think they are.”

Hmmm, this makes me wonder: when a 118 pound Chicago gangster takes on a 3 inch New York City mouse / gangster, who wins? Ladies and gentlemen, please use the comment section to place your bets …