From the monthly archives:

July 2006

I’m Gonna Kick Your Ass!

Full-contact sport. n. sig. [ 'ful 'kän-"takt 'sport ] Physical contact between two or more players who aim to render their opponent(s) unable to finish the match. Players execute all techniques at full power. Injuries are common. Examples of full-contact sports include: kickboxing, karate and … um … well … dating.

As many of you know, I kickbox as a means of working out. And, I swear there are so many parallels between kickboxing and dating that it’s actually kind of frightening. So, when did dating become a full contact sport? For example, in kickboxing (as with dating), you always want to be sure to anticipate your opponent’s move. Never leave yourself unprotected. You have to perfect your own moves (hook, uppercut, roundhouse, etc), but it’s equally important to know how to block your opponent’s.

Technically, no one gets their ass kicked in dating*; the wounds and injuries are just emotionally inflicted. People get hurt. How many of you have given your phone number out to someone that you thought was absolutely gorgeous only to have that person eventually and inexplicably stop answering your calls? Has anyone ever lied to you? Or, how about this: have you ever slept with someone only to have that person never call you again? Have you stayed in a relationship for a bit longer than you wanted to—only to have the whole experience drain the lifeforce from your body? How about those nasty breakup arguments? Has anyone bad mouthed you to their friends, or worse yet, to yours? Has anyone ever cheated on you? It’s hard out there. And, everyone blames the other party. The general consensus seems to be: “I’m going to kick your ass!” Well, not really. It’s more likely that it’s something like: “I’m not going to let you kick my ass.” Because somewhere deeply within and between the emotional walls, everyone seems to be a little afraid of getting hurt. Again.

Last night. I have a 2.5 hour conversation with my friend, Lady D. Most of the conversation centers on my dating life in New York and her dating life in her city. We’re both kind of tired of it all. We talk about alternatives. Is it time for another Man Diet? And, exactly how do you know you’re not a lesbian if you’ve never tried it? Will we be single forever? The discussion indeed goes on for hours. At the end of it, I tell her, “You know, I don’t need to be married; I just hope another committed relationship / boyfriend comes my way in the not too distant future. It’s not natural to be alone. Really, it’s not. People need people.” So, why is dating so hard? And, when did we all become roadkill on the Dating SuperHighway?

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* Well, technically, I guess some people do get their asses kicked. But, dating & domestic violence are such sad sad topics that I’m not even gonna touch that here.

{ 20 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

Bitches. Men Love Them.

I’ll try to keep this one as “safe for work” as I can for the benefit of my readers who are oh so fortunate enough to have jobs. So, okay, after yesterday’s post about Angelina Jolie, a question popped into my mind that simply won’t go away. The question is: “how dirty is too dirty?”

This thought didn’t really occur to me until I read some of your comments, but I think part of Angelina’s appeal is that she appears to be a little … you know … “dirty”. She steals your man. She tongues her own brother. And, she’s probably a little, dare I say, “bitchy”. Piss Jen off, and she might cry. Piss Angelina off, and she might punch, slap, or (possibly) stab you.

Bitches. Men love them. It’s true. If good guys finish last, good girls NEVER finish. I think it’s all about that balance of being wholesome but not too wholesome. A little dirty, but not too dirty. Men don’t want to date saints, but they don’t really want to bring someone as “sexually ambitious” as, say, Lil Kim home to meet mom and dad either. Two male perspectives that I’ve heard recently: one online, one offline. Offline first. I think my friend Tyrone (the all-knower of things pertaining to dating) explains it best when he said something like, “Guy meets a woman. He won’t date her if he can’t imagine her evenutally sucking his dick someday. And, he certainly won’t date her if he can easily imagine her allowing him to fuck her up the ass on the first date.” Crass? Probably. True? Oh, most definitely. Now, online. Mitch echoes a somewhat similar (though much more gentlemanly) viewpoint: “It’s all about being presentable to the office party as a date/girlfriend. At the same time—after the party, behind closed doors, or just out for a night on the town — [it is important to] know how to have a good time.”

Good, but not too good. Bad, but not too bad. Hmmm … what do you think? Please share your thoughts about one, the other, or both of these questions using the comments section below: (1) Are bitches sexy? (2) How dirty is too dirty?

{ 26 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

Angelina Jolie: Droolworthy or Not?

Okay, okay … yesterday we rated a guy. So, today, it’s only fair that we talk about a woman. (NOTE: Before we move on … remember to tune in your televisions at 2:00pm New York / 8:00pm Paris; Zidane is going to make a statement about the headbutting incident. Okay, moving right along …)

I don’t get Angelina Jolie. I mean, sure, she’s sexy, but she kind of seems like she’d be a bit of a crazy lady. Remember the vials of blood?!?!? Don’t get me wrong. I don’t think she’s a bad person. On the contrary, I think she has done a ton of great things to use her Celebrity Powers for good. For example, she and Brad Pitt sold pictures of Baby Shiloh Nouvel to People Magazine for $4 million and gave all of the money to charities in Africa. And, of course, she promotes peace throughout the world as a UN Goodwill Ambassador. Hmmm … She’s a tough one. Sexy, but not hot. Uses powers for good, but she’s a little offbeat (read: crazy). Okay, my final call on this woman is … Actions = Droolworthy. Looks = Not. What’s your opinion? For a moment, stop staring at her lips and answer this question: Angelina Jolie: is she droolworthy or not?

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Muchas Gracias to Kypris for introducing the word “droolworthy” to the world!!

{ 28 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

Zinedine Zidane: Is He Hot or Not?

I adore Zinedine Zidane. Do you know him? Affectionately known as Zizou, this Algerian / French adonis is absolutely gorgeous. I mean, just *look* at him. I love men with warm, chestnut brown eyes that are framed with thick, dark eyelashes. And, those lips. Those plump, smooth, kissable, lickable, suckable lips. Yummy. *AND* he has a great body. *AND* he’s super-tall. *AND* he plays soccer. (Soccer players = sexy legs.) Hmmmm …. Sports figures aren’t usually my thing. Too big. Too cocky. But, no, not my sweet, sexy Zidane. Aside from the random (and completely provoked) head butt incident, he strikes me as a comparatively cool, calm, and collected kind of player.

I would give him my 100% Seal of Hottie Approval, but I can’t because he kind of looks a little bit too goofy in some photos. So, he’s a tricky one. Sometimes I think he’s hot. Sometimes not. What’s your opinion? For a moment, forget that he’s losing all of his hair at a rate of 2.35 strands per second and answer this question: Zinedine Zidane: is he hot or not?” (As usual, straight men are encouraged to comment as well; don’t fail me now.)

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RELATED SIDENOTE: Soccer player Luca Toni is equally as yummy; feel free to comment on him too.

{ 48 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

The End of 2006 FIFA World Cup Germany

Yesterday. I wake up at 7:30AM. The game isn’t until 2:00PM, but a few friends and I have already decided to head down to Little Italy to scout out a place to watch the game. Why Little Italy? Well, my heart is with the French, but my head tells me that Italy will probably win. And, if Italy wins, I want to be among and party with the winners.

Now it’s 8:10AM, and I send Sid a text message. “Meeting @ 10:30 on corner of Mulberry and Spring. C U there? GO ITALY!! :)” Sid sends me a text message back. Good, she’s awake. I pick up the phone and call her back and we make plans to rendezvous. I call Bro, too. She’s already awake, and she’s leaving the house within the hour. I call Raj. He’s hung over and he can’t make it for the scouting, but he wants me to call him once we know where we’re going and he’ll meet us. Same for Tom. And, David. And, Eileen. Now, it’s 10:40AM and I’m standing underground waiting for the fucking D train as I have been for the past 25 minutes. I swear that line NEVER runs like it should. Anyway, when I get out of the subway at Broadway / Lafayette, I call Bro.

“It’s already pretty crazy in Little Italy,” she says. I think: that’s impossible. It’s 11:00AM and the game doesn’t start for 3 hours. But, when I arrive, I immediately know that she’s right. New York City has more people of Italian descent than Rome does. So, it’s crowded. Eyewitness News and Univision are filming the crowds. A pack of photographers are relentlessly snapping pictures. Red, White and Green flags are flying everywhere and people are chanting in Italian.

We eventually settle on a cute restaurant / bar with a large television. To make a long story short, here’s what happens at the game: France makes early goal, Italy matches it, Luca Toni is a hottie (had to throw that in there), and Zidane (another hottie) pulls a rookie move and gets himself sent out. After a full 90-minute game and the 30-minute overtime, the teams are equally strong and they’ve held each other to 1-1. Penalties ensue (i.e. each team gets 5 free kicks; whoever scores the most wins). Italy wins on the 5th kick.

The neighborhood erupts into a loud roar as every Italian in Little Italy, and indeed New York, chants “CAMPIONI, CAMPIONI, CAMPIONI!!!!” (I’m not sure, but I think it means, “We want more beer”—either that or “champions”. I never figured that one out.) The crowd, the cameras, the singing and chanting gets a little overwhelming. It’s worse than Mardi Gras on Bourbon Street. So, we leave Little Italy for a while and head over to one of my favorite French bars. It’s considerably more quite there, but the mood isn’t as sad as I expected. “Hey,” says the hot French bartender, “somebody’s gotta lose right?” Then, he looks over at a group of Italians standing outside of the bar. “Fuck Italy,” he says with a smile.

Eventually, I return home around 10:00PM, after 11 hours of eating, drinking, walking, and partying with friends, the Italians, and—albeit brief—the French. Now, it’s all over. No more World Cup. Back to everyday life. Temping. Searching for a full-time job. Registering for classes. Freaking out about surviving in New York. Etc. Etc. Etc. Hmmm … the World Cup was such a pleasant distraction. For a moment, I’d stopped getting upset that my sent resumes, calls placed, and leads chased were turning up nada. Now that the noise of the Cup has quieted, sadness settles in and I hear myself asking, “how much longer until I find another job?”

{ 9 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

A Man’s Relationship With His Eyebrows

Picking up where we left off a few days ago … Never trust a man who waxes his eyebrows. Never. I’m serious. Straight men who pluck, wax, or otherwise shape their eyebrows freak me out. The Village Voice detected this disturbing trend almost 5 years ago. And, if anything, it is growing, not going away. Beware. The Meticulously Plucked Manbrow promises to make its way to a city near you if it has not already. “Stolie,” you might ask, “what’s wrong with a man with plucked eyebrows?” In a word? EVERYTHING. And, you know, it has nothing to do with sexuality. I don’t think men with overly plucked eyebrows are secretly gay or on the so-called down low; I just think they are straight men with very very poor tastes in personal grooming. It looks gross! It’s manscaping gone awry.

In general, men just shouldn’t pluck their brows. But, of course, there are exceptions. An über-hairy man who gets his eyebrows plucked, waxed, or lightly groomed to tame the beasts and/or eliminate unibrow? That’s different. That’s hot. That’s sexy. A man who plucks, waxes or trims his caterpillars to get them shaped into two little, pretty, perfectly-rounded arches? Shoot him! … Hold on, hold … let me just think about this for a moment … A. Man. With. Massively. Over-plucked. Eyebrows? Errrrgghh, I can’t stand it! I’m going to end this post right now because even writing about it is kind of sort of creeping me out. Sheesh! The things I put myself through for you guys!!! But, before I go, I have just one quick question for all of you. What’s your call? When you see a guy with plucked eyebrows, do you think it’s hot … or not?

{ 15 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

I Love 1980s Public Service Announcements

So, I was going to wish you all a Happy Fourth of July, and I was going to remind you to drink responsibly. But, that sounds a bit too preachy. Too cheesy. Too much like a Public Service Announcement. Ahhhhhhhh, remember the Public Service Announcements from the 1980s?! For those of you that live abroad as well as for those who might have been born post-1989, the Public Service Announcement (PSA) is a chessy radio or television advertisement that appears free of charge and promotes some kind of “public good”. (Like, for example, a water company might do a PSA on conservation.) So, in the spirit of the good ol’ fashioned PSA, I thought it would be nice if we could journey hand and hand down memory lane together to revisit a few very very special relics from the past—1980s Public Service Announcements that are still relevant today:

Lesson #1: Don’t fall when you can’t get up. Okay, so I guess this one technically doesn’t count as a “PSA” and it’s from the 90s not the 80s, but I love it anyway. This commercial shows an older lady crumbled into a pile on a bathroom floor. She’s trapped under her walker. “Heeeeelllp” she says as she radios to her strap-on emergency call button, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!!!”

Lesson #2: Don’t leave your pet in a hot car. Okay, this one didn’t run for very long, but this PSA was a 1980s television ad that went something like this … The commercial starts and there’s a picture of an egg frying on the sidewalk. This deep, manly voiceover calmly asks, “Hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk?” Then, the camera cuts to an image of a dog locked in a car with the windows rolled up. All of a sudden, the voiceover guy gets louder and meaner and he booms, “THEN IT’S HOT ENOUGH TO FRY A DOG’S BRAIN!!!!!”

Lesson #3: Don’t use drugs. Okay, apparently fried eggs were all the rage in the 80s because this PSA used eggs, too. In this one, two well-manicured manhands hold up an egg. “This is your brain,” Mr. Voiceover says. (I think it’s the same guy from the dog PSA but I digress …) “This is your brain,” he says. Then, he cracks open the egg, pours it into a black frying pan, and the camera zooms in on the egg as it fries. Mr. Voiceover observes, “This is your brain on drugs.”

Lesson #4: Don’t let dirty old men molest you. Oh my dear, sweet, beloved baby Emmanuel Lewis. This one was pretty funny. In the commercial, little Emmanuel Lewis from Webster takes off running across the screen as fast as his little legs will take him. He talks about the danger of strangers and what you should do if one comes after you. “GO!” Pant, pant, pant. “RUN!” Pant, pant, pant. “TELL!!!”

Lesson #5: Don’t do anything that you can prevent with a good tagline. Life is difficult, but PSAs make it easier. All you really need is a really good tagline. Smokey the Bear warns us: “Only YOU can prevent forest fires.” McGruff the Crime Dog tells us: “Take a Bite Out of Crime.” The Crash Test Dummies put on their seat belts and say: “You Can Learn A Lot from a Dummy.” Nancy Reagan? “Just Say No” (to drugs). Seeee? Life is easier with PSAs.

Okay, kiddies, hope you enjoyed the trip down memory lane! Hmmm … just out of curiosity, does anyone else remember these commercials? Are there other really good 1980s PSAs out there that I forgot?

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“Have a Safe and Happy Fourth of July.” This Public Service Announcement has been brought to you by Stolie at the Funky Brown Chick dot Blogspot dot Com.

{ 11 folks got down with the Funky Brown }

Cristiano Ronaldo is a Punk-Ass Bitch!

I can’t stand him. Wait a minute, back up. First, I’ll apologize for posting a 2nd soccer-related post in a row. This is not a soccer blog, and tomorrow’s post won’t be about soccer. I don’t know what it will be about, but I promise that I’ll stay away from soccer … Okay, back to Ronaldo. I wasn’t going to put up a post today because I expected to entertain out-of-town guests all day long. But, I can’t find them. I’ve called and called, but I don’t know where they are. I’m sure everything is fine and they’ll make it to the city okay … I’d just feel a lot better if they would call me!! And, while I wait for them, I figured I’d put up a quick post about my hatred of Cristiano Ronaldo since he’s everywhere these days.

Here we go. Yes, okay, sure, he’s cute. I’ll give you Ronaldo-lovers that. However, even *I* am not getting blinded be the light on this one. Three things: #1) He’s an asshole. He’s cocky and he doesn’t play fair. #2) His theatrics make me want to vomit. His tumble-roll-crybaby act is getting a bit tired and old. NO ONE TOUCHED YOU!!! GET THE FUCK UP AND STOP ACTING LIKE A LITTLE BITCH. #3) I can’t stand men with noticeably overplucked eyebrows. Put. Down. The. Tweezers.

Okay. Sorry for the rant. I feel better now … And, yes … if you guessed that I’m just bitter that England (and The Netherlands a bit ago) lost to Portugal, you’re right. Had the outcome of yesterday’s game (and the Dutch one) been different, Ronaldo wouldn’t bother me nearly as much as he does. Because, even with his jackassery, he *is* a phenomenal striker. And, he’s cute.