Twanna A. Hines @ FUNKYBROWNCHICK.com | sex. dating. relationships.

Happy New Year, I’m Starting Over!

Almost seven years ago, I moved to Chicago. Having U-Hauled my stuff from Florida, I’d just been dumped without reason by a man I thought loved me more than anyone had previously. He told me there wasn’t another woman and I hadn’t done anything wrong. As Woody Allen has said, “the heart wants what it wants.” His didn’t want me. Since I couldn’t blame him for his desires (or lack thereof), I blamed me. What did I do to make myself so incredibly unlovable ?, I wondered. I was hurt, depressed, unemployed and crashing at an old college friends’ place — a gainfully employed corporate banker who offered me her guest room then later, unexpectedly, asked me to pad her wallet with back-rent when I moved out.

Struggling with a heart broken by my ex, a job search failed and pain from a friend’s perceived betrayal, I wondered: What Should I Do with My Life? I schlepped to Borders Bookstore on Chicago’s Michigan Avenue and bought hottie Po Bronson’s book by the same title: What Should I Do with My Life?: The True Story of People Who Answered the Ultimate Question. I’m not going to tell the tale of my three-year stint in the Second City and subsequent move to Manhattan — or the story of how I got over the boy — because that’s not the point of this blog post. Out with the old, in with the new. Happy New Year, it’s my fourth in New York. Around this time last year, I walked away from my full-time publishing gig in the financial district to dedicate myself to my own writing. As a result, I can honestly say 2008 was my first “good” year in NYC — on all fronts. (Psst! My last 2008 piece / first 2009 piece, I’m a Writer, Not A Child Pornographer, is now published at Huffington Post.)

I don’t remember the exact passage, but Po mentions very few people discover their “purpose” in life after hearing a commanding voice from the sky. I’ve fallen on my ass, made poor decisions, run up a lot of debt, second-guessed myself throughout various periods of my life. I’ve also succeeded. I try to make the best decisions I can with the information I have at a given time. And, I move forward on faith. My purpose, my goals for 2009 are to: (1) finish my book and (2) unclutter my life. I’ve already written 5.5 of my book’s 13 chapters, and I want to wrap the remaining 7.5 up by December 2009. Regarding clutter, I want to lose: weight I said I’d lose by the end of 2008 but didn’t, the mess in my apartment and any unnecessary drama and/or loose ends with exes. I’ve got a good feeling about 2009. I hope you do, too. For fun, listen to oldie-but-goody NPR podcast interview with Po Bronson. Read Marci Alboher’s archive of her New York Times Shifting Careers blog or her book One Person/Multiple Careers: A New Model for Work/Life Success. Sincerest wishes that this year brings you peace, prosperity and any insights needed to make changes and accomplishments in your life — if that’s what your heart desires.

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Technorati Tags: funky brown chick, funkybrownchick, Hines, Marci Alboher, New Year's Resolutions, One Person/Multiple Careers, Po Bronson, Shifting Careers, Twanna, What Should I Do With My Life, work life balance

January 1st, 2009 | Print This Post | link | Email This Post | [35] folks got down with the Funky Brown

New York City is Toxic To My Dating Life

I’m back from the Vineyard and ready to talk about “dating in New York” again. I feel defeatist and pessimitic admitting it but, if I’m being honest, I think New York is the worst city for single, straight women. I’m blogging about this today because the topic came up a couple times over the weekend.

If you’re female, flying solo, heterosexual, and looking to get laid on a regular basis, don’t live here. “Before I moved to New York, I was always someone’s girlfriend,” I recently told Nichelle. “I mean, you know, I’m not saying that’s necessarily healthy either. I think it’s good to be comfortable being single. I’m just saying I had an easier time dating when I lived in other areas. London, Florida, California, Chicago, Amsterdam … A bunch of different places. I’m not saying that to sound like a big shot; I’m saying it because I have a pretty broad comparison base when I tell you, ‘When it comes to dating, I can’t think of a place sucks more for women than this place.’”

Don’t misunderstand me. I write about dating, eat and breathe relationships, pontificate about it, etc. etc. I’m obsessed with this stuff. (Everyone should have a passion; mine just happens to be understanding how people relate to each other.) So, I’m definitely not in that “what’s wrong with my dating life?!?!” space. I know what’s up: (1) I’m unneccessarily picky, (2) I used to spend too much time going after “hot” guys instead of the “good” one and, perhaps most importantly, (3) I’m living in the wrong city. Post college/university and pre NYC, I was never unattached (i.e. without a boyfriend, boytoy, significant other, fuckbuddy or whatever) for more than approx. half a dozen weeks at a time. Wanna know how many dates I’ve been on since moving to New York nearly four years ago? Seriously, if I had to make a conservative guess, probably somewhere between 80 – 100. I know how to meet people in NYC; it’s easy. Hey, if casual dating’s what you’re looking for, New York is your city. But, here’s a different question: How many “boyfriends” or serious relationships have I had in this city?

Zero.

“Here’s what it comes down to,” I tried to explain over the weekend, “I don’t need a boyfriend. That’s not the issue. People have a natural, human need for touch. It’s not about getting laid and it’s not about hooking up with a guy … ”

“I’m single, but I don’t feel lonely because I have a lot of people around me,” a friend mentioned.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s not about that. Loneliness doesn’t have anything to do with the number of people around you. There are plenty of married people and couples in relationships who feel incredibly lonely. Being alone, feeling lonely is about not having your needs met. In one of my past relationships, I felt completely alone because my boyfriend was totally incapable of ‘being there’ for me emotionally. I think what I’m trying to say is this: I have a high need for touch. Seriously, when I’m talking to people, I instintively grab them for emphasis without even thinking about it. Touch comes natural to me. I like to be caressed, kissed, touched, stroked. Seriously. I crave it. I need it. And, I’m not getting it from men on a regular basis. THAT’S what makes me feel lonely. And, quite honestly, I don’t know how often I’ll get it as long as I live here because New York is awash with women. The city’s drowning in them. I want men.”

“If you feel that way,” a friend suggested, “maybe you should move?”

Leave New York? I can’t. For better or worse, I’m addicted to this city. The parks, museums, international people, liberal politics, non-stop cocktailspartiessocialevent action, etc. etc. I really like it here. I feel at home because it’s one of the few places I feel I actually “belong.” I don’t know where I’d live if I left this place. Hmmm … untouched and rarely fucked on the East Coast. That’s annoying.

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Random news links that may interest you:

Man drought is fact of dating life (Dating in Auckland, NZ)

Technorati Tags: committed relationships, dating, funkybrownchick, relationships, sex, single in New York

September 2nd, 2008 | Print This Post | link | Email This Post | [42] folks got down with the Funky Brown

Good Days, BAD DAYS

I’m having a shitty day. I was going to put up a cute / funny “Testicle Tuesdays” post since there wasn’t a Manly Monday yesterday, but I’m not in a cute and funny mood. I feel irritable, tired, emotionally raw and frustrated. Have you ever had one of those days where nothing seems to line up quite right? For whatever reason, that’s the story of Tuesday, April 1, 2008 for me. I tried to follow Tiffany B. Brown on Twitter and the site wouldn’t let me. I got up at 6am to prep for an event that didn’t happen. Later in the morning, I ran like a lunatic to catch a subway to the office, but it pulled away seconds before I got to the closing door. I arrived at work and the vendor dude downstairs didn’t have the fruit I wanted. And, the coup de grace? I was gonna mention that today reminds me of that song “Life Is Like a Flying Trapeze … sometimes it’s up, then it’s down” or however the song goes. But, you know what? I googled it, but I couldn’t even find the song!! Either I’ve got the lyrics botched up or, maybe, it’s something my sister and I made up when we were little & it’s not a real song at all. Whatever. And, it’s not like I’m mad or angry at anything or anyone. I’m just, you know, generally frustrated with the state of the day. But, I already said that.

I’m off the blogs for now. Am I the only frustrated person at the moment? Feel free to use the comment section to tell me: What’s irritating you right now? Don’t hold back. We’ve all got a long week ahead of us, and Friday is still days away. Time to rant. Go.

Technorati Tags: pissy moods

April 1st, 2008 | Print This Post | link | Email This Post | [15] folks got down with the Funky Brown

Dorothy the Simpleton, and Her Dog Toto

During my lunch hour at work, I like to run in Central Park. And, when I say “run”, I mean move very fast by using my feet to pump up and down on pavement. Typically, when a human being with even an ounce of common sense sees a person “running” toward them, they move. And, of course, by “move” I mean move out of the fucking way. But, for whatever unholy and ungodly reason, I’m learning that people (in Central Park at least) do not see the need to also move their dogs out of the way, too. This travesty occurred yet again the other day. I’m running on the joggers’ path in Central Park when, directly ahead, I see this woman and her tiny little dog lazily strolling along the joggers path. Sure, I could ask myself, “WHY THE FUCK ARE DOROTHY AND HER LITTLE DOG TOTO ON THE JOGGERS’ PATH???”, but that question might raise my blood pressure to alarming levels. Or, it might cause me to have an aneurysm. So, I don’t ask that question. As I approach the woman and her dog, I simply huff and puff and squeeze out a quickly labored “excuse me” to alert them that I’m coming. The woman turns around, see me running toward her, and she moves over to the left side of the path. But, get this … She doesn’t move her dog. So, yeah, now I’m running full speed ahead. There’s a woman on my left. The low string / leash is stretched across the width of the path. And, the tiny little dog is on my right.

I assess the situation quickly. I could try to hop over the leash, but I might trip and fall and hurt myself. That wouldn’t be pretty. So, given the choice between the dog and the woman, I choose to go around the tiny little dog because he seems like less of a simpleton than the woman does. But, to my great disappointment, the dog lets me down. He won’t stay put, and he starts moving around. So, now the three of us — Dorothy the simpleton, her dog Toto and I — are doing that awkward dance / shuffle thing in order to get around each other and not get tangled in the leash. Eventually, I get through it all unscathed. But, I swear I wanted to tackle that woman and/or use one of my hands to pick up that little 2-pound overgrown rat posing as a dog and spike it into the pavement. So, to the dog owners and dog walkers of Central Park, I say this: “on behalf of me and my fellow runners, *please* move yourself AND YOUR DOGS out of the way when you see us coming.”

June 12th, 2007 | Print This Post | link | Email This Post | [6] folks got down with the Funky Brown

Advice About Bad Customer Service?

I was without internet service for approximately 1.5 weeks because Verizon did not repair my DSL internet connection. I could not submit articles that I’d planned to submit; I missed billable hours at work; I used up extra cellphone minutes; I couldn’t receive calls and I had no access to my home phone because I have VOIP / internet phone; and I endured countless hours of mental anguish while trying to convince Verizon’s customer service department that they should provide me with the service for which I am paying.

It should be possible to hold large cable, internet and telephone companies liable for mental anguish — or, at the very least, lost wages — when they dick you around and provide extremely poor customer service over extended periods of time. Instead, what usually happens? You get company credit or vouchers that can only be used to purchase more of the shitty service that pissed you off in the first place.

It seems so completely unfair. Patient’s Bill of Rights. If you’re a patient in a hospital, you have certain rights. Same with the Taxicab Bill of Rights. But, what about telecommunications? What’s my recourse for all of the bullshit that I went through with Verizon? And, unfortunately, (as horrible as my experience is) it’s not just Verizon and it’s not just me. I don’t know anyone who *doesn’t* have a story that goes something like this: Comcast told me to remain in my home from 8am – 5pm so that they can repair my cable, but then they never even bothered to show up or they showed up *after* the time that they said they would.

So, now what? I’m pissed off. And, I’m sure — at some point or another — a few of you have been in a similar situations and *you’ve* been pissed off. What’s the recourse? Is the Better Business Bureau still functioning? Does anyone even bother reporting anymore? A reader, ingredient_x, suggests that I do what people always do when they receive poor service: spread the word. Word of mouth, he says, is “the only recourse customers actually have that’s the least bit effective.” Okay, so, I’m doing that. I use my two lips to ten fingers to tell anyone who will listen how horrible my experiences with Verizon have been.

Another reader, Error Boy, suggests that I report the incident to Consumerist.com, and I just did that. I hope they write about it and include it on their site. And, actually, you should check out their site if you haven’t already. The theory goes like this: Neither I nor you, individually, may not affect the way that Verizon and other companies do business; but, if enough of us join together, it’s like we collectively rise up and bop the folks in these large companies over the heads with our laptops and yell: “please do something about your shitty customer service!” Stories like this one give me that “pissed off / laughing / borderline madness” feeling that only comes when you realize that someone else has got a story that’s just like yours, and you feel like you know *exactly* what they’re going through. Like, this guy’s story.

So, here’s where things stand: my DSL is up and running, and I’m still with Verizon for now. Needless to say, I’m going to call them again so that they rightfully credit me (i.e. DSL out of service, VOIP out of service, etc.). So, then what? I could switch providers sooner rather than later; I haven’t ruled that out. At the same time, I want to do something to register this complaint officially and more completely. And, I want to do whatever I can to actually make them change the way they do business. If you’ve got any ideas, feel free to forward them to me via email or leave them in the comment section. I feel like I’m at my wit’s end.

March 23rd, 2007 | Print This Post | link | Email This Post | [11] folks got down with the Funky Brown

Dear Sexually Satisfied Hobo

To the homeless woman who now has my vibrator, I say this … Believe it or not, it was NOT my intention to give that to you. You may not know this, but I’m in the process of moving. And, as with every move, something gets lost. I just didn’t expect to lose my vibrator. And, I certainly never expected to give it to someone else.

But, I should have seen it coming. As I’m packing earlier that evening, I divide all of my bathroom stuff up into “Things I Want to Throw Away” and “Things I Want to Keep”. I take a box downstairs to the curb. Waste not, want not. I’m sure SOMEONE can use the extra rolls of tissue, bars of soap, and out-of-season beauty products. Besides, it’s New York. It’s a proven fact that anything left unattended here for more than 5 minutes WILL get stolen. And lo and behold, as predicted, my box was gone within seconds. Did you take it, my dear sweet homeless friend?

Ah, the box. Unfortunately, in a fit of utter madness and confusion that only comes with moving, I put the KEEPERS on the curb instead of the throwaways. And, I don’t realize it until later than night when I ask myself, “Where’s my toothbrush?” Gone. The most important box in the sea of brown boxes is gone. My $70 rotational oscillating power toothbrush? Gone. My organic shampoo from Italy? Gone. Oh, my lovable homeless friend, I really hope that you pamper yourself with my vitamin-enriched, waterproof, great lash mascara. And, may the cracks in your lips be healed by my cherry-flavored lip balm. Everyone deserves a little luxury from time to time, right? So, trust me when I say this to you my vagabond amiga … I’m glad that SOMEONE is getting good use out of my $75 sex toy imported from Sweden—even if that someone isn’t me anymore.

September 15th, 2006 | Print This Post | link | Email This Post | [16] folks got down with the Funky Brown

I Almost Killed a Man Yesterday

 I’m walking home from my low-paying temp job. I’d make more money if I moved to Bangladesh and whored myself out for sweatshop labor, but that’s beside the point at the moment. Right now, I’m tired. I’m hot. I’m thirsty. And, I’m hungry. I’m very hungry. But, I don’t need a big meal because I’m having dinner later. I just need something quick. Something to tide me over. That’s when I see “Mr. 45-Year-Old Hot Dog Cart Guy”.

Yay!!! Perfect! That’s exactly what I need: a $1.50 hotdog and a nice, tall, plastic tube of $1 icy cold water. It’s the best $2.50 that any New Yorker could ever spend. Woot! Woot! I’m so excited. I get in line behind a group of 3 barely-dressed pre-teen girls. Mr. 45-Year-Old Hot Dog Cart Guy stares at them so hard that his eyeballs almost pop out. I swear I think I actually see him drool a little bit. This, of course, pisses me off because—although they’re dressed like mini sluts—they’re still children, they’re girls. They pay Mr. 45-Year-Old Hot Dog Cart Guy $1 each for their hotdogs and leave. Now it’s my turn. “Hot dog and a water,” I say. Mr. 45-Year-Old Hot Dog Cart Guy obliges, but he fumbles a bit because he’s craning his neck to look at the children as they walk away. I look at him and add, “ketchup and mustard.” More obliging, more craning. He gives me my dog (with ketchup and mustard) & water. I give him $20. He gives me $16 change. Four dollars. He charged me $4. I go totally apeshit.

“What the fuck are you charging me, huh?!?! Where’s the rest of my fucking change?” He looks stunned, so I repeat. “Where. Is. My. Fucking. Change.” He stutters and mumbles something about counting, but I’m not listening. “You just charged the girls, the mini sluts, the pre-teens $1 each for their hot dogs.” Mr. 45-Year-Old Hot Dog Cart Guy looks embarrassed. I continue, “And, I may not be dressed like a whore and I may not be underage … but I want the rest of my fucking change.” He fishes two round quarters out of his plastic cup and gives them to me. That’s $16.50. He says the hot dog is $1.50 and the water is $1.50. Even if true, that’s $3.00 and he still owes me 50 cents. I stand there arguing with him for a bit longer. It gets ugly. I eventually calm down once I realize that I’m threatening to kill a man over $1. It’s the little things, you know? I can handle the low-pay temp job. I can handle the heat. I can handle the fact that some young girls dress like prostitutes. I can handle New York. But, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some 45-year-old pedophile screw me out of $1.00.

August 2nd, 2006 | Print This Post | link | Email This Post | [16] folks got down with the Funky Brown

It’s Gettin’ Hot In Herre

Hot town, blogging in the City. Back of my neck getting dirty and gritty. All around me, people looking half dead—walking on the sidewalk, hotter than a match heeaaadd!!!! … I can’t take it!!! It’s too hot. Gawd, help us all!!!! It was 100 F ( 38 C) in New York City yesterday. And, today it’s supposed to by worse. Now, I’ve been known to exaggerate but I’m going to be completely honest with you guys right now … I almost melted yesterday. I’m not kidding. I did! It was soooo hot that I thought that I was going to die.

I don’t have an air conditioner. It’s so hawt in my apartment!!!! If I wanted to, I could turn on my oven and go sit in it and it would be cooler than it is on my couch. Denzel (my laptop … you know … smooth, black …) overheated and turned off. He’s angry. He’s hawt, too. I shit you not, every time I turn Denzel on, I have to prop him up on books and then stick one of my icepacks under him to stop him from overheating. I can’t take it!!! Is it this hot where you are, too?

July 18th, 2006 | Print This Post | link | Email This Post | [33] folks got down with the Funky Brown