We contacted each other previously. He approached me at a friend’s party on 46th Street and 7th Avenue. Cute. Foreign. Brilliant. Interesting. Immediately sparking sexual chemistry, we were lip-locked within 20 minutes. Thinking back, maybe it was 80% chemistry and 20% booze … or 70% chemistry, 30% booze. Hey, it was a party. We were drinking! But, whatever. Anyway.

I thought he was a player. My snap judgments and gut instincts are usually spot on; I should trust them more often. When he initially gave me his little white business “card”, it had four things printed on it: (1) Name, (2) City/Country of origin, (3) New York City and (4) domestic & foreign cell phone numbers. Last summer, my visiting friend Anna-Scarlet said she’d never seen such a thing. “They’re player cards,” I told her. “Some New Yorkers actually get personal cards printed with just their contact info so they can give them out at bars.”

“Are you kidding???” Anna-Scarlet scoffed.

“Nope. They’re convenient when you wanna connect with someone, but you don’t really want them to know your personal information — like, where you work.” So, the dude gave me one of “those” cards. Still, I decided to reserve judgment until I got to know him better. Partly because I wanted to be wrong about him. Partly because I actually liked the guy. Maybe those two are the same thing? Over the next weeks, we went on dates: holding hands while strolling through museums; making out at bars; flirting across brunch and dinner tables; and, most importantly, talking about how much we mutually despised stupid games & lies people turn when dating.

Still, I was skeptical about his intentions. Instead of seeking honest answers, I mulled over tons of scenarios and came up with crafty solutions like 007 or Jason Bourne. Why did he have a player card? Why did he repeated tell me he was a “very private person”? Why did he refuse to friend me on Facebook though he contacted me through the site countless times — adding, “You can’t write anything kinky on my wall”? Why did he come on so incredibly fucking strong, then turn me down when I eventually suggested we go back to his place (e.g. “Um, we can’t. My apartment’s a mess”)? I wasn’t sure if we’d been on enough dates, and I didn’t want to feel like I was prying into his life. But, I knew this: if he’s not actively hanging around with other women (he said he wasn’t), at the very least, he’s hiding something.

Why are people so fucking careless with others’ hearts? It’s not worth explaining why the dude’s out the picture now, what went down and why our tale, this possible-love-story-in-progress, is now wasted on Manhattan’s streets — splattered on Midtown pavement like bird shit, run over with the clunk-clunk of a dump truck passing a pothole. It’s just, you know, over. Of course, I cried. Not for that specific boy; I’m just, you know, sick of the bullshit. What’s the point of lying to someone you barely know? When someone tells me “I’m not into games, I like honesty, I don’t understand why people date a lot of people at the same time, blah blah blah” THEN it turns out to be bullshit, it feels like a mind fuck.

When I meet a object of desire for the first time, I get really excited about it. “Ohhh,” I figure, “he’s cute! I really like him. OMG, MAYBE WE’LL GO ON DATES!!” So, when it doesn’t work out, I feel hurt, frustrated, irritated and saddened. And, everyone knows it. Sometimes I’m glad I have a blog because it’s cathartic to write about the shit I go through in the dating world. It helps me make sense of everything. Other times, it feels odd to be so “public.”

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Credit paid: “You Fucking Broke It” image appears on Chelsea Labsu’s Flickr.

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I’m still in Connecticut for the holiday weekend. Trust me; that sentence sounds much more bougie than I actually am. Before I moved to the east coast, words and phrases like Martha’s Vineyard, Manhattan, New England, The Hamptons and Connecticut sounded so rich, white and preppy. It’s weird to actually live and work in this region now. (Sidenote: I saw Trey Ellis — the dude who wrote The Inkwell — read at Rachel’s series, In the Flesh, the other night. He’s actually pretty funny!) But, back to CT. One of the weird things about this place is this: they don’t sell booze on holidays. Seriously, we went to the grocery store to buy a bottle of wine to go with dinner, and a big fucking green curtain blocked all alcohol in the store so you couldn’t even see it. What the fuck is that??? Seriously. What did they think would happen if people actually *looked* at a six pack of Corona?? I miss Manhattan — home of liquor stores that not only sell booze in single-size servings 24/7, they also deliver. Whatever. Anyway. Because we couldn’t buy wine, we bought sparkling cider to go with dinner … and we polished off a bottle of leftover rum hanging around the house. See how that works? Stupid blue laws barred us from buying wine, so we were forced to drink hard liquor instead. :) Such bullshit.

I hope you all had good Thanksgivings. Last night at dinner, we did the traditional thing and went around the table saying what we were thankful for. I said I was grateful for my life in New York. The first three years were really shitty at times, but the most recent one is going well … so far. Best wishes that life is going well for you, too. By the way, I kinda sorta wanted to live blog my Thanksgiving holiday. In the end, I only posted a few things. The transcript is below if you’re interested. Be well. Sending love e-booze from Connecticut …

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Psssst! The dude in this video, Jared Cotter, was on of Cosmo’s 2008 Hottest Bachelors. See. See.

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“Ooh goodie,” I thought as I read Metro during today’s commute, “the publishing industry is getting smart.” You don’t have to work in newspapers, books or magazines to know the industry isn’t making tons of money & people don’t read as much as they used to. Back in grad school I read this report called “The Alliterate American” or something like that. Basically, the gist of it was something like: yeah, adult illiteracy (people who can’t read) is bad and alliteracy (people who can read but choose not to) is just as bad. I blame our 24/7, instant gratification culture; but, I also, in part, blame the publishing industry for not making a half-ass effort to make reading sexy. Every other industry, company and brand (Sephora, Rihanna, Nike, MTV … fuck, even milk) has put their product out there and, in essence, gone to great length to create demand. What did publishing do? They print. The thought pattern seemed to be: if we print it, they will come. People stopped “coming” and starting “going” online long ago. Why? Because it was easier, cheaper/free, more fun, hip, up-to-date, new and interesting. And, oddly enough, the publishing industry seemingly only discovered that in recent years.

But, back to the point of today’s post.

Did you see the Sex and the City movie? If so, you already know there’s this part where Carrie reads from a book called “Love Letters of Great Men.” Supposedly, people lustily ran to bookstores craving the title. “The problem? There was no such book — until now,” writes Dorothy Robinson in her Metro article How “Sex” Helped Sell “Love”. (Great, catchy title by the way.) “There are plenty of movies that have been ‘novelized’ but this is the first instance I know of in which a book that was a figment of a scriptwriter’s imagination has subsequently become real,” editor of the newly published “Love Letters of Great Men” Ursula Doyle is quoted in the paper. There was demand so, the publishing industry sought to fill it. Oooh, smart! Very smart. Ursula kinda sorta says her book is the only “Love Letters of Great Men” (e.g. an anthology of men’s love letters titled “Love Letters of Great Men”). After, like, 0.53 seconds of research on Amazon.com, I discovered Love Letters of Great Men, Love Letters of Great Men and Love Letters of Great Men; but, Ursula’s book (Love Letters of Great Men) indeed appears to be the only “real” book (i.e. a hardcover title printed by an established, heavyweight press: St. Martin’s Press). Sounds like an interesting read; I’m gonna try to get my hands on a copy.

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Psssst! Shout out to Little Brown for embracing Twitter; follow them! I love it when publishing houses use social media. Also, speaking of books and Amazon and shit, did you know you can support my blog without paying me a dime? Next time you shop on Amazon.com, please use this link. It won’t cost you anything extra. For every dollar you spend, Amazon will kick a few referral pennies my way. To date, Funky Brown Chick readers have purchased 61 items totaling $763.10 — granting me $34.91 to buy more books. I’m not getting rich off this stuff; I just appreciate support (and the books!).

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Hmmm, a little birdie told me the newest GQ is the 2008 “Men of the Year” issue. It doesn’t hit newsstands until tomorrow but, because it’s Manly Monday and mama loves ya, I nabbed pretty little advanced copies of the four covers for you. No doubt the Obama cover will be a really cool thing to own like 10 or 20 years from now; so, definitely buy that one. Obama’s face doesn’t quite look like him and Jon Hamm looks like he’s wearing a toupee, no?

Nitpicky stuff aside (…What the fuck do I know about cover art? I’m neither a photographer nor designer…), I really gotta hand it to GQ for their awesome list of men. Phelps CERTAINLY looks hotter draped on their cover than he did on that goofy Sports Illustrated thing and Leo’s lookin’ sexier than usual in the image above. If you wanna drool over more pics, watch a slideshow of the rest of the honorees online. Here’s the list:

• The Boston Celtics – Champions of the Year
• Thom Browne – Designer of the Year
• Chicago – City of the Year
• Aaron Eckhart – Villain of the Year
• Brandon Flowers – “Killer” Year
• Shephard Fairey – Artist of the Year
• Megan Fox – Obsession of the Year
• James Franco – Screen Idol of the Year
• Josh Hamilton, Texas Rangers – Comeback Kid of the Year
• Senator Ted Kennedy – Legend of the Year
• Seth MacFarlane – “Mogul” of the Year
• John Malkovich – Mad Genius of the Year
• Danny McBride – Funny Man of the Year
• MGMT and M.I.A. – Radio Gods of the Year
• Rafael Nadal – Court King of the Year
• Chris Paul, New Orleans Hornets – Breakout Athlete of the Year
• Sean Penn – “Drama Queen” of the Year
• General David Petraeus – Leader of the Year
• Gordon Ramsay – “Prick” of the Year
• Alain Robert – Daredevil of the Year
• Philip Roth – Icon of the Year
• Jason Statham – Action Hero of the Year
• The Men Behind The Wire – Tough Guys of the Year
• Neil Willenson – Local Hero of the Year
• Mark Zuckerberg – Boy Genius of the Year

I’m not gonna comment on every guy; I hate long blog post. But, I wanna mention a few quick things. HIGH FIVE to the magazine for naming my hometown “City of the Year.” I live in New York City, but I’ll always be an Illinoisan at heart. My eyeballs can’t ever get enough of Rafael Nadal’s body, so I’m thankful they included him in the group. (SIDENOTE: Hat tip to New York magazine for their delicious Nadal cover earlier this year. Total deliciousness.) And, finally, aren’t we glad Sean Penn is getting the accolades / big ups he deserves? I can’t wait to see him in Milk. Hmmm … as the year winds down, more “Men of the Year” lists will probably pop up. How do we feel about GQ’s list? Diverse enough? Are the guys hot enough? Did GQ leave anyone out? Feel free to size up their goods then share your thoughts in the comments section using the link below. Who’s the REAL man of the year?

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God, what a sad story. :( “In a striking display of the power of live video,” NewTeeVee tells us, “Abraham K. Biggs committed suicide on Wednesday while broadcasting himself on video site Justin.tv.” The 19-year-old little black kid, Biggs, left a suicide note in which he says he hates himself and hates living. “I am in love with a girl and I know that I am not good enough for her,” he explains. He says a bunch more; you can read the full suicide note if you’re into that.

I’m not surprised someone would kill themselves on live-stream video. Public suicides are not uncommon; Brandon Vedas (a.k.a. “I told u I was hardcore” ripper) comes to mind, and Wikipedia has a whole section about filmed suicides. But, I guess the Biggs story really touches me for a couple reasons. First one? He was sooooo young. :( Age 19 seems like ages ago. God, the pains, desires, wishes and dreams I had back then have grown into different things now. Seriously. When I close my eyes and try to picture the guy I dated in my teens, I can see his dark hair and pudgy chin but I really struggle to remember what his face looks like. Shit, I don’t even know where the guy lives now. That aside, the other thing that’s so sad (to me) about Biggs’ death is this: In his final note, he talks at length about his love for his family & the relationships around him — even in the midst of sheer hatred for himself. “The only thing I dread, besides the pain, is the way my family will suffer. I do not want my mother or father to think that it was anything they did that lead me to kill myself,” he wrote. “I love you all and will forever live within the memories we created. Forgive me. Love always and forever [...]” I can’t even imagine the sadness those who know him probably feel. :( Though I don’t have children of my own, I’m the auntie of two beautifully brown nephews I love so fucking dearly it’s ridiculous. My heart goes out to Abraham’s loved ones and those who knew him.

To end this post on a positive note ( … because it’s Friday and because Funky Brown Chick is a space for positive things … ), I wanna send a shout out to Jamy from the blog Grateful Dating. “Keeping a gratitude journal is supposed to increase happiness. I find something to be grateful for every day, which is harder than it sounds,” Jamy explains. “I’ve been doing this for a while, and I have to tell you, I think it’s working.” Online, I love my readers and I’m grateful for the people who take time out of their busy days to stop by my site and see what I wrote. I’m happy I’ve got a solid group of friends in New York and elsewhere. I’m utterly thankful my family supports the decisions I’ve made in life — even though they disagree and/or don’t understand most of them. Though we’re taking it slow and seeing where things may lead, at the moment I’m thankful for that boy (who’s never mentioned on the blog) who comes from that place and gives good kisses; like everyone, I can be  neurotic and overthink things when I’m dating, but I’m looking forward to seeing & spending time with him on Saturday, too. I could go on, but this post has been long enough. Happy Friday everyone. Feel free to use the comments section to answer this question: What are you grateful for?

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