About a week and a half ago, I handed in my letter of resignation. I haven’t blogged about it until now because I wasn’t sure whether or not I wanted to talk about it. If you’ve read this blog for any amount of time, you know this: I never blog about work; it’s the only topic that’s “off limits” on the FBC. So, why am I blogging about my resignation? Well, oddly enough, this post isn’t about work; It’s about me.

Two and a half years ago ( … wow, has it already been that long? …) I moved to New York. I had big dreams of being locked away in a small basement of some major cultural / arts institution. I would have given my left pinky finger to manage the marketing efforts of The Culture Project, Alvin Ailey, or the film program at MoMA. I wanted to combine my track record of skills with my long-standing passion for the arts. Basically, I wanted to help those who were creating various forms of art get their work to wider audiences. More people equals more money. More money equals more art. Seems perfect, no? The only problem was that I couldn’t find the right job. (I’ve talked about this here before … way too much experience to be junior–not enough “art” experience to be senior. Yada yada yada.)

So, I switched to Plan B. I went back to school part time. I enrolled in a hybrid MA program in business administration and arts management. I got a full-time day job to support myself and pay the bills. And, most importantly, I paid more attention to my private passions. I spent more time writing and publishing. I worked with internet technology, new media and open source software. I designed websites for friends. I gave a public reading of excerpts from my blog. I was recorded for a TV show pilot about people who have kept journals (offline and online) over a period of years. Somewhere along the line–whether consciously or subconsciously–I decided to not only support others who were making art, I gave myself permission to create it as well.

Picasso said, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” I’ve drawn, taken pictures, and written words for as long as I can remember. I love being online–and I’ve been here in various forms since 1995–because it’s one of the few places where words and pictures come together quite nicely. (I’m a film nut because that’s the other place where this happens.) In any case, although I’m really very sad to leave my current employer, I’m excited to announce that I’ve accepted a full-time online / new media position. I’d tell you about the company, but I don’t blog about work. Suffice it to say that I’ll be working with social media, blogs and other things related to using the internet to bring people together. It’s like I struck gold.

The great American actress Julia Roberts once said that she liked working with director Steven Soderbergh so much that she’d be willing to do it for free. Granted she demanded they pay her $20 million before she’d star in a movie that he was making at the time (Ocean’s Eleven), but the point is this: you know that you’ve found the right job when you’re doing something that you’d be willing to do for free. Hell, I’ve done this internet stuff for free for so long that I can’t believe I’m actually going to get paid to do it. And, believe it or not, I didn’t even demand that my employer pay me $20 million! “So, Funky Brown Chick,” I hear you asking, “What’s going to happen to the FBC?” Honestly? Nothing. The new employer already knows that I blog. (Um, hi guys!) I’ll still keep blogging daily Words of Goofdom here at the FBC. I’ll still write online for Nerve mag three times a week as well. And, don’t be surprised if you find yourself reading me at another site or two in the not too distant future. In short, life is good–even though I couldn’t have possibly foreseen that things would work out the way that they have.

I think I’m losing my mind. Last night, I had the weirdest dream. I was sitting in my apartment talking to this guy. In my dream, I knew him; but, because I’ve never seen that face before, I don’t really know who he is. (That probably didn’t come out right. But, trust me. It makes sense.) Anyway, so, we’re sitting in my apartment and I’m trying to explain what happened to my pet bird. I’ve got this little tropical birdy as a pet — in the dream, not in real life — and all of its hair is falling off of his head. While talking to the guy, I get really solemn and I ask him, “Why is my bird going bald?” He gets this really weird look on his face, and he answers, “What do you think this means?!?!” We both get really freaked out, and I’m like: “It means I’m gonna go bald?!?!?!” I start screaming, “Noooo! Gawd!! No!! Nooo!!!” We hug each other and tremble in terror. Then, I woke up.

Cray shit, huh? I consulted one of those online dream dictionaries to see if dreams about birds carry any significance. I don’t take dream interpretation and astrology stuff seriously, it’s just for fun. Anyway, so, apparently bird dreams indicate freedom, a lighten load of burdens, and other stuff like that. (Oddly enough, that dream dictionary didn’t say anything about balding birds. But, whatever.) Hmmm … Have any of you had any scary, weird or reoccurring dreams lately? If so, feel free to use the comment section below to share your dream story. Just for gits and shiggles, don’t be surprised if I add my two cents in and interpret your dream for you.

Hey, folks. I have a confession to make: I chickened out. If you read my stuff over at Nerve mag, you know that I’d planned to go to a sex club with my friend Jonathan over the weekend. Well, I went to the club. That’s not where I chickened out. Oddly enough, I chickened out when it came time to write about the experience. I wanted to write about everything in graphic detail — i.e. the porn in the background, the orgy room, the couples engaging in activity — but I couldn’t completely. If any of you blog … and *especially* if any of you blog under your real name, associate your picture with your blog, and/or share your blogs with your coworkers, family and friends … you already know what I mean.

My friend Sexpot Donna and I recently had an interesting conversation about the experience. She knew that I was going to the club, and she sent me an IM to ask what I was going to write on my blog. I told her that I’d already written the post, but I left many of the juicier bits out. Two thoughts about why I felt the need to do this:

1. I would have felt guilty writing about some of the older people that were at the club. They were way out of my age range, but that doesn’t give me free range to poke fun at them or look down on them for what there were doing.
2. Like I said before, I’m not comfortable getting too detailed about everything that I saw given that I know who reads this blog.

So, then, Sexpot Donna asks me, “Was writing the review worth going?” Good question. On one hand, the experience was worth it. For some, life is about finding your safety blanket and wrapping yourself in it. For others, life is about stepping out into the unknown and challenging yourself to develop to your fullest potential. I definitely fall into the latter of the two camps. So, was it worth it? Yes. But, 0n the other hand, I worry that the whole “writing of the review” suffered a bit because I left out some of the most interesting details. In any case, I haven’t ruled out the possibility of writing a “here’s the WHOLE story” piece and sticking it up as a password-protected post here at the FBC. If I go that route, I’ll email the regulars the password. If you’re not a regular, fret not. Just email me, and I’ll send you the password.

Okay, so, that’s the deal with the sex club review. Check it out at Nerve if you’re interested. NOTE: Sorry for hijacking today’s Manly Monday post, but I just had to get all of that stuff off of my chest.

Just a quick update to let you know that I recently installed Twitter on my blog. Look to your right. No, not there. The *far* right. Under “First Time Here”. If you don’t know what Twitter is, google or wikipedia it. And, if you would like to read a beautifully-written piece on why Twitter (and Dodgeball) might be worth the rage, check out Clive Thompson’s piece in Wired magazine: How Twitter Creates a Social Sixth Sense. His article single-handed convinced me to sign up with Twitter. Ever the commitmentphobe, I’m trying it on for size over the next week or so. I’ll make a decision about whether or not I want to keep it on my blog after that.

On to other news … Big news, actually. I have two important updates for you and, oddly enough, they both fall under the general theme of “Going Places”. I’ll announce the first bit of news over at Nerve on Saturday. I’ll announce the other bit of news here on the FBC shortly thereafter.

“The people that I want to date aren’t online,” my friend Veronica responds when I ask her why she won’t try online dating. After thinking for a second, she adds, “I guess the kind of guy that I’m looking for doesn’t need to go online to find dates.” I respect Veronica’s honesty, but I reject the notion that online dating is only for ugly or desperate people. Hell, I’m online. I’m not ugly. And, I’m certainly not desperate. There was a time when online dating probably wasn’t very socially acceptable. But, the way I see it, those days are gone. “Online dating. Offline dating. What’s the difference?” Actually, I’m glad that you’ve asked that question, dear reader, because that’s the topic of my post at Nerve today. See: Online Dating vs. Offline Dating.

[Photo Credit: Salon.com]

Technorati Tags: dating blog, funky brown chick, funkybrownchick, online dating, single life, singles

Unprotected sex is sex for procreation. Safer sex is sex for recreation; but, unfortunately, pregnancy isn’t the only unintended side effect or complication of certain types of birth control. The other day, as I read Brandweek’s cover article (page 1, page 2) on Johnson and Johnson’s drug Ortho Evra, I grew a little unsettled. I don’t use the drug more commonly called “the patch”. But, I have friends that do. In the article, “Wherefore The Warning Signs?”, Brandweek says:

Today, at least 1,500 women and their families have sued J&J and its Ortho McNeil Pharmaceutical unit, the maker of the patch. These parties contend that the company failed to warn them in its advertising that women who wear the Ortho Evra patch run a greater risk of developing potentially fatal blood clots than do women who elect to use other contraceptives—and that some patients have suffered heart attacks, brain injuries and strokes. The suits allege that at least 23 women have died after using the patch.

Basically, the problem seems to be that the patch introduces 60% more estrogen into the blood stream than the pill. So if the patch is so unsafe, I can’t help but wonder why the media hasn’t covered this story more? “All across the country,” Brandweek claims, “young, seemingly healthy women who had worn the patch were literally dropping dead.” This couldn’t be true. Could it? Ever the wary and untrusting consumer of information, I googled the patch and I was surprised to see that Brandweek seems to be right. ABC, MSNBC, CBS and others already covered the story. And, several attorneys have launched a website to manage the caseload of claims. Scary. In any case, if you or any woman that you know uses the patch, be sure to alert them of the risks.

I’ve been fairly open about the fact that I’ve slept with most of my male friends. So, why do I do it? I develop friendships–with men and women–the same way that most people choose their friends. Shared experiences, shared worldview, the ability to respect our differences, common interests and so on. All great qualities in any friend, no? So, yes, my male friends have these qualities too … *BUT* add to the equation that I’m typically only friends with men that I find very physically attractive, and you’ve got an orgasm waiting to happen. Literally.

I’m not going to entertain the “Can men and women ever truly be platonic friends?” question because I’ve already written about that here, here and elsewhere. But, I do want to spend a bit of time talking about three benefits of having male friends:

A Shot of Testosterone. I like the way that men look, taste, feel and smell. So, I like being around my male friends because I enjoy the presence of men. It’s a nice little shot of testosterone that always brings joy to my days.

A Different Perspective. Not all men think alike. So, it wouldn’t be exactly fair to say that I get a “male perspective” from my guy friends, but they certainly do provide a “different” perspective when I talk to them about my dating life.

Eye Candy. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again … I like being friends with attractive guys because I like the looking at them. Really, who doesn’t like to drool over a hot body ever now and then?

So, there you have it. Three reasons why I enjoy the company of my male friends. And, of course, I have female friends as well. But, I’ve never slept with any of them. And, I’m not writing about them today because I just wanted to give a nod to the boys for a change. By the way … speaking of male friends … my guy friend Jonathan treated me to dinner the other night. I’ll write all about it for Nerve sometime later today or tomorrow. I haven’t written over there in a couple of days. For a while, I was feeling kind of bummed about the whole dating world. So, the last thing that I wanted to do was write about it. No need to depress myself and you guys. But, whatever. I’m better now. Update coming soon. In the meantime, check out Because It’s Always Been a Matter of Touch if you haven’t already.

Technorati Tags: dating, dating blog, funky brown chick, funkybrownchick, guy friends, male friends, relationships, sex

Has anyone else noticed that Matt Damon looks an awful lot like that kid who played “Opie” in the Andy Griffith Show? Wait. Back up. Maybe a better question is: Does anyone know what the Andy Griffith Show is? The only reason that I know about AGS is because I used to sit and watch television with my grandma when I was a little girl. Second only to rasslin‘, old reruns of the Andy Griffith Show were my grandma’s favorite things to watch on television. I was a kid, so I don’t remember much about the show, but I do remember two things. The reruns were in black and white ( … a fact that made me wonder: how old is grandma?? …). And, secondly, there was a little kid named “Opie” on the show. As I grew older and Matt Damon made his splash on the big screen, I remember thinking that Damon must be related to Opie because they look an awful lot alike. In my mind, I invented a world where Opie grew up and fathered Matt Damon with some random Irish chick *BUT* — much like Eddie Murphy — Opie had a hard time claiming little Matty as his own for one reason or another.

But, alas, fact wasn’t as interesting as fiction this time. “Opie” is actually “Ron Howard”, and Matt Damon is in no way shape or form related to the guy. To my knowledge, they’ve never even worked together. In any case, that aside, let’s get down to the really important stuff today. Manly Monday.

Today, as with every Monday, we explore some topic related to men and/or profile a particular man. Today’s pick? Matt Damon. Why? Because I went to see “The Bourne Ultimatum” during its opening night at the standing-room-only Regal E-walk theater in Times Square. As I sat in my seat with my eyes glued to the action-packed screen, I couldn’t help but think: “Yeah, sure, Damon looks all buffed out right now, but he’s gonna end up looking like Opie / Ron Howard in a few years.” So, then I wondered … Is it really worth getting all hot and bothered now about a man who is eventually going to end up looking like a cheerier version of Vincent van Gogh later? I don’t know. But, because it’s Manly Monday, I’ll ask you all to use the comment section below to answer this question: Is Matt Damon droolworthy … or not?