From the monthly archives:

February 2006

HALLELUJAH: It’s Raining Mandrops!

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 …

{ 10 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

Valetine’s Day & Stuff

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?

{ 12 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

2 OUT OF 3: Apartment. Boy. Job.

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. 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.

{ 30 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

Who is More Gangster – Stolie or the Mouse?

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 …

{ 15 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

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