Last night, I went to dinner with a guy. He’s a cutie. He’s younger. And, get this, he might be a new male friend for me. Ahhhh, male friends. I almost forgot what those were. When I lived in Chicago, I knew guys that I considered friends. (Most turned into fuck buddies, but that’s a different story.) Anyway, now that I live in New York, I don’t really have many male friends. I think it’s harder to make male friends here. Why? Well, I’m not sure. Hmmm … lemme think about that for a second … Why is it harder to make male friends in New York compared to, say, Chicago? If I come up with an answer, I might write a post about it at a future date. In the meantime, back to my new male friend …

Last night. I have drinks, dinner and great conversation with a boy with an imported dick. (I don’t know whether or not it’s circumcised but, if I find out, I’ll let you guys know.) Anyway, let’s call the new guy “Uri”. Last night is the first time that Uri and I get together on a one-on-one basis. And, at the end of our dinner, we hug and go our separate ways.

I invited Uri to join me and my friends when we go out partying later tonight. Who knows? Maybe he’ll become a new male friend. Hmmm … and now that I’ve just re-read my original post about whether or not men and women can be friends, I think I need to add a 5th reason: sometimes I just wanna be friends with a guy because, well, I just wanna be friends. So, maybe I take back what I said earlier. Maybe men and women CAN be friends?

1. You say “the city” and expect everyone to know that this means Manhattan.
2. You can get into a four-hour argument about how to get from Columbus Circle to Battery Park at 3:30 on the Friday before a long weekend, but can’t find Wisconsin on a map.
3. Hookers and the homeless are invisible.
4. The subway makes sense.
5. You believe that being able to swear at people in their own language makes you multi-lingual.
6. You think Central Park is “nature.”
7. You’re paying $1,200 for a studio the size of a walk-in closet and you think it’s a “steal.”
8. You haven’t seen more than twelve stars in the night sky since you went away to camp as a kid.
9. You go to dinner at 9pm and head out to the clubs when most Americans are heading to bed.
10. Your closet is filled with black clothes.
11. You haven’t heard the sound of true absolute silence since the 80s, and when you did, it terrified you.
12. You pay $5 without blinking for a beer that cost the bar 28 cents.
13. You take fashion seriously.
14. Being truly alone makes you nervous.
15. You have 27 different menus next to your telephone.
16. Going to Brooklyn is considered a “road trip.”
17. Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
18. $50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
19. You don’t notice sirens anymore.
20. Your doorman is Russian, your grocer is Korean your deli man is Israeli, your building super is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favorite bartender is Irish, your favorite diner owner is Greek, the watchseller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsstand guy is Indian and your favorite falafel guy is Egyptian.
21. You’re suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
22. You secretly envy cabbies for their driving skills.
23. Your door has more than three locks.
24. You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
25. You’re willing to take in strange people as roommates simply to help pay the rent.
26. There is no North and South. It’s uptown or downtown.
27. You know what a bodega is.
28. Someone bumps into you, and you check for your wallet…..
29. You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston St. like the city in Texas.
30. Film crews on your block annoy you, not excite you.
31. You actually get these jokes and pass them on to other friends from NYC.

Courtesy of Blogthings.

One of the best things about the FUNKYBROWNCHICK.com is its readers. YOU. Yes, you. Sure, yeah, *I* blog the posts and design the pages. But, the real fun happens when we all interact via the comment section. So, I’m really excited that I’ve been given an opportunity to take that interaction a step further. Believe or not, I now have my own radio show!!! Yep, that’s right. The Funky Brown Chick is going live with a weekly internet radio show based on my blog.

It’s called Dating Roadkill and it airs Mondays at 10:00PM EST starting January 1. Basically, Dating Roadkill allows people to share stories about the dating world. Read about it here on my blog, or you can visit the show’s site over at BlogTalkRadio. (By the way, no worries; if you can’t catch it live on Monday nights, the next day you can listen to it on your iPod or listen online via streaming audio at work.)

I’m excited about it, and I really hope that you guys will take part! I need your help. When January 1 comes around, please take a listen to the show & give me feedback later. Also, if you do indeed listen to the show that day, I hope you’ll call in and participate. Like this blog, at least 1/2 of the fun is YOU. And, finally, if you’d like to be a guest on Dating Roadkill, let me know. The show’s first segment is Worst Dating Stories Ever. If you have a really really good “bad date” story or know someone who does, definitely shoot me an email.

Generally speaking, I probably should be an addict. All of the signs are there. For example, when I’m stressed or depressed about something, I turn to mind-numbing activities to chase the anxiety away. I’d rather prop my eyes open with toothpicks and dope myself up on really really bad reality TV for hours than face an uncomfortable frustration that needs to be faced. But, fortunately, addiction is just too much of a commitment for me. I have a hard time staying interested in anything super routine for an extended amount of time. It becomes uninteresting.

Of course there are exceptions. And, fortunately, I think all of my “addictions” are harmless–they’re focused on certain foods and, of course, boys. First, the foods. If I ever meet you at a restaurant for breakfast, rest assured that I’m gonna order steak and eggs. Every time. Sure, I’ll look at the menu and give it a once over. But, I’m just amusing you; I already know what I’m gonna order. Same with dessert. If I’m ever so lucky to have dessert with you (you sexy anonymous reader), I’ll order chocolate cake slightly heated. “And, what if there’s no chocolate cake on the menu?” you might ask. Well, in that case, I pick whichever dessert has the most amount of chocolate in it.

Ahhhh … and, then there’s my addiction to boys. If I’m in the company of a group of eligible men, 99.9875% of the time, I’m gonna go for the tall one who’s kind of a pretty boy with a yummy accent, a winning smile and dark hair spiked up with product. Almost every time. And, if I’m gonna mention a celebrity boy on the Funky Brown Chick (my blog), 99.9875% of the time, it’s probably gonna be Curtis Stone, Daniel Sunjata, Paul Walker, or Zinedine Zidane. I can’t help it; I know what I like. OMG!!!! Imagine pouring chocolate sauce over Curtis Stone’s naked body. Or, or, or this … Imagine eating a steak and egg breakfast at a table for four that includes Zinedine Zidane, two hotties from Spain, and me. Ahhhh, that sounds so good. I think I just had a mini-orgasm in my panties just thinking about it. Okay. I’m all better. So, now, it’s your turn. Confession time: What are your favorite vices, routines, habits or addictions?

Keeping with the tradition of “Manly Mondays” I thought I’d dedicate today to penises because, well, you know, men have them and women don’t. Penises. They’re everywhere. And, if you’re even 50% less naïve than I was the first time that I started seeing them, you probably all ready know that not all penises look the same. Uncircumcised penises look quite different than circumcised ones. And—again, if you’re less naïve than I used to be—you probably all ready know that American men are circumcised, but most of their brethren in other parts of the world aren’t.

Yes, folks, it’s true: international hotdogs come with buns.

Besides appearance, of course–is there really any difference between cut and uncut? If you live outside of the US, tell me, are the men in your country cut? And, finally … cut or uncut — what’s your preference?

Hey folks, I’m doing a bit of maintenance on the site this weekend. Moving some stuff around. Editing old posts. Touching the site in all of its private places. So, if you stop by the site and it’s down, fret not. We’ll be back to the regularly scheduled program on Monday. In the meantime, feel free to browse the archives. Need a recommendation? The recent Top Five Reader Favs include: How Often Should You Wash Your Jeans?; Third Date Rule; Should Men Wear Thongs?; Bitches. Men Love Them; and Farting in Front of Your Partner.

Rewind 5 years. It’s the middle of the night, and I receive a call from the guy that I am going to marry. He sounds upset, and he wants to come over immediately. I have no way of knowing what the news is but, from the tone of his voice, I can tell that it’s not good news. During the 10 minutes that it takes him to drive from his house to my house, a million different implausible scenarios run through my head: He’s cheating on me. He wants to break up. He found out that he has a terrible disease. He wants to leave the US and go back to his home country (the Netherlands). But, my instincts tell me that none of those scenarios would make any sense. The only one that does make sense is the one that scares me the most: maybe, his father has died?

When my guy arrives, he’s crying. I ask about his father, but he tells me that his father is fine. “Then, what’s wrong?” I ask. That’s when I hear him say: “I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t working.” So, that’s his news? He wants to break up with me? But, now, I’m confused. People who are going to marry don’t “break up” do they? I mean, you know, they get married. Don’t they? Oddly enough, the next words out of my mouth are: “But, I all ready got the cake.”

You see, the ironic thing about the timing of the breakup with The Guy I Almost Married (TGIAM) is that his birthday was the very next day. I’d all ready secretly planned a surprise birthday party, and it was going to be a huge bash at my house. I had invited all of his friends, my friends and “our” friends. I had tons of decorations hidden. And, of course, I had a beautiful cake. Needless to say, I cancelled the party. (And, I threw his cake in the trash.) Time passed. We moved on. We kept in touch. I started dating someone else. And, eventually, TGIAM’s calls happened less frequently. Fast forward to today. TGIAM’s birthday was last week. As with the past three years, I didn’t call him on his birthday. Some years, I forgot about it. And, the years I didn’t forget, I didn’t feel the need to call. (My mantra? Exes aren’t “friends”, they’re “exes”.) Still, because TGIAM and I were once so close, I wonder if I would feel differently about calling him on his birthday if the day wasn’t so closely-related to our breakup. Hmmm … How about you? Do any of you call your exes on their birthdays?