The Name is Bond; James Baggage Bond

After watching Casino Royale, the prequel to the James Bond male fantasy escapades we know and love for spectacular action and ample eye candy, suddenly the decades-old movie franchise has a sadder, more bitter taste. Bond's precision as an agent and charisma as a lady's man actually boil down to a lot of pain and avoidance underneath.

I think about myself and the people around me, and it isn't long before I stumble across the baggage that drives so much of our decisions and chosen ways of life. Some go from relationship to relationship looking for anything that will keep them from facing their own fears of loneliness, while others refrain in fear of intimacy -- maybe they've been burned before. Some lose themselves in work or hobbies or social causes, anything to protect ourselves from how we are really doing.

As for me, coming out of a long weekend makes me think of some of the baggage that I'm still waiting on God to pick up and maybe moreso myself to invite him to sift through the pile with me: this crushed bag of a friendship I lost, that fragile parcel of former boyfriend's happiness, this appliance of my fears and insecurities, that pile of fantasies I never should have bought. And the list goes on.

I haven't lost hope yet though. There's always the mercy and goodness of God that's chasing me down. And the more I see in myself and around me, it is my only hope.


Self-protection much?

Married Metamorphosis

"You realize of course that men and women can never be friends." -- When Harry Met Sally

Although many cross-gender friendships may attempt to belie this, there has to be some truth to it -- especially the older you get. Somewhere in your early 20s, you stop making those brother-sister, androgynous bonds and suddenly initiation of new friendship with the opposite sex is just different. I have some male friends, but I also have plenty more I have almost completely lost touch with since they entered the big M. And I don't begrudge them for it -- I understand that truth in Harry's words, applicable in greater or lesser degrees. Some wives don't feel comfortable if hubby's got cozy hangouts with single women from his past single life, and depending on the woman and depending on the hubby, that is fair enough.

But as a still-single woman, it makes me think of a few things. One, it sure is a bummer to lose some healthy friendships with not much more than an unspoken understanding that such are the changing seasons of life. Two, I can't deny that I'm glad for now to not be in those shoes. Gives me a little more quality time with those friends I might eventually lose. Call it the single-married trade-off, and for now I get to keep those friends...and my independence.


PS. R.I.P. Bruno Kirby. :(

There Is No "Fun Bobby"

In season 2 of "Friends," Monica rekindles a relationship with a character the friends call "Fun Bobby." Through the course of the show, we see that Fun Bobby only lives up to the first part of his name when he's had a few too many: He's the funny, charming life-of-the-party as long as he's a little tipsy. Without, he's just a semi-depressed guy with a handful of boring stories.

But in my experience, Fun Bobby doesn't actually exist. At the risk of waxing after-school-special, I have never met anyone I preferred drunk to sober. If anything, the slurred, semi-adolescent advances of a Fun Bobby are more Sad Bobby to me, and quickly turn to Really Lonely and Maybe Depressed Bobby if he absolutely needs the bottle to have a enjoy himself. Sad, because Sober Bobby is so much more interesting to me -- he has actual thoughts, reactions, sensitivity, even insecurities that all say something about who he really is and what his life experiences have been. And anyone who isn't enough themselves without a drink does not magically become that with -- it's just a symptom that something else is wrong. "Fun" Bobby is only surpasses him in uninhibitedness (is that even a word?). But when you remove inhibition, sometimes all you get is Too Much, Too Fast. And while my heart goes out to that guy, I guess what I'm really interested in is the real, "Un-Fun" guy.

Sell Crazy Someplace Else -- We're All Stocked Up Here

In the name of "being more open," one must also be prepared to confront the Crazies who will think the open door is actually just for them. In reality, you wish you could have one of those secure, always locked doors with a small doggie door for only men with the right criteria to fit through -- sort of like that toddlers game where you fit shapes into a big 3-D hexagon . But I've tried the secure locked door thing and it only got me passive men.

Crazy Man will start like any other -- he may ask you out and in the name of being open you might accept. But when the calls and emails exceed 4-5/hour (and mind you, you barely know the guy), it's safe to then append the label. In the words of Big Daddy Kane, "Play like Roy Rogers and SSLLOOOWWW DOWN." Time for a conversation -- which may have to happen face-to-face if he's just not getting it. You can always hope that Crazy Man will become just Weird Man or Socially Clueless Man the more you get to know him, but you should always execute sound judgment of course.

My personal takeaways from Crazy Man: 1-No need to fear, I really can lay down the line. 2-The bar is set pretty low if we're at: I'll date you if I don't fear you. I don't think I'm willing to be *that* open.

The Single Guy, the Dating Guy and the Single-Dating Guy

To make up for lost time, I have a trifecta of issues to present.

Single Guy is maybe the most common. He talks a lot about his need to find a woman. It constantly peppers his casual conversation, his jokes about himself and pretty much everyone around him, and he might even make a flirtatious joke or two -- but he will never ask you out. Single Guy is usually in his 20s, since as I've established before, it's our generation's period of adolescence and insecurity. But sometimes Single Guy is older. Maybe he's gone through something rough and is eager for companionship but scared out of his mind to get rejected.

Dating Guy is also pretty common. His dating life is so active you have trouble keeping up. He changes girls more often than you do your laundry. He has probably flirted with you before, and you've probably crossed his mind since you know just about everyone else has, but he's so busy trying to find someone he can feel like he can take care of, who won't rock his world too much, or just getting thrilled by the chase, that he forgets to ask himself what he really wants. So he remains restless.

Lastly, we all know Single-Dating Guy, but he's a little less common (thank God). He sends signals our way, he might create excuses to take you out one-on-one, he's getting to know you. By all external signs, he's an interesting guy who is initiating with you and has dating on the brain. He might do things like make playful bets as an excuse to take you out. He responds positively to all social initiation you make with him. But like a bad movie twist ending, you eventually find out -- hopefully sooner rather than later -- that Single Guy is actually Single-Dating Guy. He's got a girlfriend that for some reason he neglects mentioning in all of your conversations about "dating in general," in your flirtatious encounters and in your innocent one-on-one get to know you sessions.

As for me, i've been interested in all three at various points in my life. But now I'm 30 and I just refuse to deal with that anymore. I'm looking for That Guy. Rather than listing out a bunch of idealistic criteria -- which I know better now than to do -- I'll settle for now for someone normal with good communication skills, who will ask me out. ;-)

There's No Crying in DJ-ing

To summarize the last absence, here are a few lessons I've learned:
- Being 30 has given me a new sense of boundaries. How oft have I said to myself, "I'm 30, I refuse to deal with _______ anymore." (Blanks could include things like passive aggressives, chaotic rummage sales, immaturity in my living space, self-absorbed men, mean people in general, unmatching socks, etc.)
- There's no crying in DJ-ing. Like baseball, it's predominantly a man's world. Like all things, there are a lot of politics involved. And if you're a woman in a man's world, you'd better be ready to prove yourself.
- We are all motivated to do crazy things by our emotions and desires. Case: I ran a five-mile race because De La Soul was at the finish line with a free concert. Because they are the real thing.
- When one of your best friends starts dating a great guy after 13 years of singlehood, it's a happy day.

Thank God It's 30

There are worse things in life than turning 30. Like turning 29. Unlike I had expected, turning 30 was actually somewhat of a relief. Finally done with the terrible 20s, and again at the bottom of a fresh, new, clean slate of a decade. My friends who made it past the age 27 suicide statistic and actually used their 20s to work out their issues all tell me the 30s are better, and they don't have to tell me twice. Things could really only go up from the dark year of 2003.

So here is the quick and dirty list of lessons learned and words to live by out of that angstful, character-building decade whose 2 prefix will thankfully never start my age off again (unless of course, I make it to 200):
- My friend Doug once said growing up (as with many good things) takes a lot of choice and hard work, it doesn't just naturally happen. True.
- 20s think their minor issues can be worked through in a few heartfelt conversations, 30s know it took them a good few years in counseling (and counting...).
- 20s think they have reached mature adult self-awareness, 30s know they were going through delayed puberty and rebellion.
- Codependence doesn't sound good in theory, and it's worse in reality.
- There is freedom in knowing you're not in control. Especially once you accept that you are a freak.
- Don't do that.
- Life moves pretty fast -- If you don't stop and take care of yourself once in a while, you will miss it (in bitterness, escapism or a desperate need for validation).


Every good event starts with a big bowl of guac.


The Bon Jovi sing-a-long


Blowing out the big 3-0


I'd like to point out the man in the silver wig in back.

He's Just Not Enough For You

I'll admit I'm a little irritated by the Greg Behrendt wave of thinking that has been infiltrating our relationship vocabulary: "He's Just Not That Into You." My irritation, though any man might accuse me is merely because I'm a woman, is because although I'm sure that may be a true cause of many relationships not working out, it is an oversimplification of probably many others. For some, it may be "He's Just Not That Mature," or "He Just Doesn't Know What He Wants," or "He's Just Obsessed With The Chase," or even in some cases "He's Just Too Into You."

As for me, my book might be called "He's Just Not Enough For You" or "Your Priorities Are a Little Out of Whack." The He's in my life have generally been well-intentioned, personable dudes with a great sense of humor, who have been somewhat into me, with about 50% character. First three items check, the following -- which are probably most important -- only check halfway. When it comes to character and values, the glass is never half-full.

Maintaining the Perfect You

"In 50 years you're gonna start doing some thinking on your own and you're gonna come up with the fact that there are two certainties in life: One, don't do that. And Two, you dropped 150 grand on a f**king education you coulda got for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library." -- Will Hunting

I finally made it to Club 3-0 as of last Friday. All of my 30s friends have given me a warm welcome into the decade, and unanimously have told me, "it's so much better than your 20s." I have no doubt. Instead of the dread and quarter-life crisis I thought might ensue from turning the corner, I feel a sense of relief that a decade of wrestling with who I am and what I'm worth, and getting my heart shat on a few times (though I'm the wiser for it all) is gone - over - never to rear its 2-prefix again.

As I look back on both those topics -- identity and relationships -- my first 30-year-old reflection takes shape. I've seen a lot of different couples over the last decade, and spouses and significant others fall into one of two categories: the real and the ideal.

The real significant other is the one that helps you know and continue to know your real self. They are compatible with you in ways you need, and will challenge you in ways you don't always know you need to be challenged -- and you may or may not like what you see. They hold a mirror up to your face everytime you see them, which on a good day will show you that attractive face with a kind smile, and on a not so good day will show that decaying Dorian Gray side.

The ideal sig other is the one that helps you maintain the perfect image you have of yourself in your very own mind. They feed that ego either in word or deed (or if your ego prefers, both) in either subtle or unsubtle ways -- whichever your issues prefer -- and have effectively catered life to revolve around the most important person in the world: you. The mirror they put in front of your face always displays the same thing: Funny, witty, smart, charming, talented, strong Superyou.

The problem with the ideal is that it is ideal and not real. Underneath that thin layer of false security lies anxiety and a tireless effort to protect everyone else -- and yourself -- from finding out the truth: you are not so ideal after all. The ideal is based on a fantasy and on what you want the world to know about you: Funny, witty, smart, charming, talented, strong.

So thankfully, it hasn't taken me 50 years but 10 to realize that certainty in life: don't do that. And rather than spending the next 10 finding new ways to try to impress people and impress myself, I think I'll get that membership at the real, non-flashy, do-your-research public library.


Image disclaimer: This photo was taken on the set of a movie where the participating actors dated off-screen and resulted in a messy breakup.

The Anti-Crush of the Month

I'm going through a phase where I'm repulsed by men. So what better time to bring up Colin Farrell?

After a vaguely attractive stint as a clean-cut copper on Tom Cruise's tail in Minority Report, which coincidentally was about the last time he was clean period, Colin quickly spiraled into that drunken Irish bad boy image that has won him into the hearts of thousands of trashy women. The paparazzi have caught him in moments of drunken stupor, really bad hair, and right before it's really, really time for that shower (we hope).

I was going to look up his dating history to find some common thread among the women in his life, and then I realized I just don't care. Those would be moments that could be better spent stalking Johnny Depp.


Really, need I say more?

Just One of the Guys

Here's one way to get crossed off of my list...

It's one thing to find out someone you are interested in is just not interested in you. It's another thing to have them divulge details of their love life with his latest girl du jour. Pardon me for not being excited that you cuddled for the first time -- and by the way, do I look like one of your male friends?

The horror is somewhat relieved when he confesses to you his tendency to freak out when it appears a girl is actually interested. Houston, we have a red flag.


"You know what I could really use right now? A Beer."

The Party of Your Past

As time goes on and you're pushing 30, and people -- including yourself -- have gone in and out of relationships as does happen with people, a party of your old friends can start to feel like a history of your messy relationships. Ex-boyfriend with his current woman or wife, his ex with her new man, former awkward friendship man by the punch bowl, guy who sent mixed messages years ago now playing with child, sharing about a common friend, who jilted your one other girl friend. It's all in the family.

Part of what this is is just life. We get into relationships, they work or don't work and you move on. But on a bad day, your single status can push you just over your normal ability to rise above the pool of issues. On a bad day, when you're tired and things have had a chance to build up as they sometimes do, you feel the print left on your insides that says you just weren't worth it. Which in reality is a print left from long before relationship X,Y or Z. And although you would never be that girl who uses a boyfriend to improve her self-esteem, being one of the only singletons there makes you wish you could cheat on that principle just once. And that it could be now. And you wish you could just start all over -- wipe that slate of your past clean, before there was X,Y or Z -- and be totally hopeful again.

But you can't. You can only be totally honest with your friends and with God about your frustration, leave the day's baggage behind, and let the healing continue...in baby steps.

The Mutant in Me

I am a mutant. I may not be Jean Grey or Storm, and I may never get Hugh Jackman to fall in love with me. But my pinkie fingers on both hands are about half the size they should be.

In a larger sense though, I am a mutant because I am a Christian. Like the X-men, there are ways the world sees us as abnormal and wishes, ultimately, that we would just go away. Like the X-men, there are powers available to us -- of healing and transformation, of strength and even sometimes mind-reading -- that we must learn to access and use. And like the X-men, it can feel like a damn lonely existence. People look at you like you're a freak when you tell them, and assume you are a mutant of the worst form: a conservative fundamentalist (isn't that Magneto?).

But a mutant can hold out hope that there's a Wolverine still out there, searching just like she is.

My Pre-Sexual Revolution Needs

I present 3 case-in-point scenarios:
- Taking a day off work a couple of weeks ago with S-dawg, in my tiredness and dread for the next day I found myself confessing: I would so be a stay-at-home housewife. No problem, whatsoever.
- In trying to replace the fluorescent light in my kitchen (which of course requires me at the very top of a step ladder), new bulb in hand, the damn thing just won't work. Must be an electrical wiring issue.
- Upon opening the package of the new doorknob we needed to replace on the front door, I took one look at the 50 pieces and micro-font directions and called my fixes-it-and-loves-it guy friend (not to be confused with boyfriend) to come do it for me. Which he completed in about 30 minutes.
- After carting this and that 40-lb turntable to and fro, and dropping an embarrassing amount of money on a new mixer, my DJ sound issue remains unresolved. Again with the electrical wiring. Thought to self: "Gee, it would be nice if I had a boyfriend (not to be confused with guy friend) who just loved figuring this type of stuff out."

Conclusion: I need a man to change my lightbulbs, be handy around the house, carry my damn heavy equipment, figure out how stuff works, and leave the cooking and caring to me.

What?

In Love with Harold & Kumar

What's hotter than hot?


A. John Cho and Kal Penn

B. The yellow and the brown

C. 2 neurotic-slash-funny second generation Asians

D. Obsessive fast food pilgrimages

ANSWER: ALL OF THE ABOVE

Finish What You've Started...Unless it's a Blog

I have been blog-dead for almost two months, and all I can point to is my doggone tendency to leave things hanging. If my blog was my boyfriend, we'd be over. Luckily, a blog is not a person -- in the same way the other people's blogs are not real people. They are just blogs. They will take you back whenever you are ready, they will never say "no, you can't write that," and they will never call you on whatever bullsh** you're posting.

So after two months of really focusing on skratch, picking up a Rane 56 mixer and a few small things on eBay, I'm ready to come back to you, Bloggie. And like Billy Joel's baby grand, I know you'll be good to me.

The Single Marathon

Mile 1...invigorating. Mile 5...even pace. Mile 10...feeling a little long. Mile 15...must.keep.running. Mile 20...don't think I'm gonna make it. Mile 25...really? only a mile left?

Temp-to-Hire for Full-Time Lovin'

Relationships are a lot like jobs. You search -- sometimes online -- for a listing that interests you. You narrow down the ones that look good at first glance, you apply, and you get hired by one. You have made a commitment to do the job required for that company.

But after a period of time, whether a month or a few years, your relationship starts to form. You are no longer getting acquainted, you are involved and learning the idiosyncrasies -- yay, issues -- you have signed yourself up for. You start asking yourself if you're valued and paid enough, if your hard work and talents are being acknowledged and appreciated, if you just plain don't fit the job. And pretty soon, you become the girlfriend in a status quo relationship with a boyfriend who doesn't abuse her, but he just won't ever give her that ring. The flowers are nice, the dinner out is great. But at a certain point, you realize he can't give you anymore.

Kids, don't let six years pass you by overworked and underpaid. Get a new freakin' job.


Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.

The DJ is Taking Requests

One holiday, two weddings, one busted tone arm and several technical difficulties after my last post, I feel I can finally say it: I'm a DJ.

With the mixing of songs and matching of beats almost constantly on my mind over the last few weeks, it has become the perfect analogy to my new approach to dating: Not every song may go well together, but they can at least be beat-matched. I've got an open mind (and dance card) for eligible men in their mid-20s to 30s.

Frozen Hot Man

There is a breed almost every woman encounters at some point in her dating quest. He exudes a certain cool, stable masculinity and more often then not, he's also a looker. For those of you personality test lovers, he is typically a Myers-Brigg ISTJ. He is Frozen Hot Man.

Frozen Hot Man is generally very considerate and dependable. You can count on him to call when he says he will, and you can also depend on him to take care of people and things because he's not just Hot, he's also responsible. FHM is a gentleman, and doesn't generally have to be the center of attention, which makes him all the hotter.

The problem with the FHM though is that he is, in fact, Frozen. Perhaps not relationally -- he can easily engage you in conversation, and do so with a good sense of humor. But two words: emotional repression. He bottles up anger, disappointment and fear like it's vintage wine, and generally runs from conflict surrounding those topics with his ego in tact and his tail between his legs.

For some codependents, the FHM may be a step up from either the High Maintenance Man or the Woman Drug -- at least the FHM is dependable and he is refreshingly uncomplicated. But the F of FHM cannot be ignored for long. And until he can get that F off, he's better left off your list.


Cold...


...or Hot?

R.I.P.A.D.

http://www.never-nude.com/

Read it and weep, fans. Read it and weep.

Festivus For the Rest-of-Us

I have never had anything against Valentine's Day, other than the fact that it seems like the most made-up holiday we have on our calendar year. What event happened where we decided to encourage couples to spend lots of money and attention on the one day of the year?

But as a singleton, I want to know what the Valentine's Festivus is out there. And I'm definitely not talking about getting together all your girl friends for a male-bashing, "I'm a survivor too, Beyonce" night out (please, don't). But our society views singleness as a deplorable condition (a close second to age) -- or at least one to be rid of as soon as possible. Where is the day celebrating people who have kicked codependency, gotten out of an unhealthy relationship, who have been counseled or prayed out of emotionally or physically abusive patterns?

Perhaps that day, like the day for all couples to celebrate eachother, really should be a process happening everyday. Now that's one to grow on...

(For more reading on the history of V-day.)

Note to Self: Must Fall in Love

There are hot guys everywhere. There are even single hot guys to be found. But what's a gal like myself to do when she has a syndrome of falling for the wrong hot guy?

Among the top of my New Year's resolutions this year is to Fall in Love. But as I've sat on that one for the last month, it occurs to me that this is an easier thing said than done. The trouble with love is, you can't will it into existence. That was my lesson for 2003. And after 2004 as my selfish year, I'm ready to re-enter the world of theoretical-but-hopefully-actual-potential companionship. So my words to live by this year are, "WHO KNOWS." Rather than my previous mantra which was more like, "NOT HIM." Sometimes the biggest step for a singleton is just to be open to what may come her way and let the past go -- fantasies, assholes, passives and all.

So if God is the one I know him to be, I'll expect a "parade of animals" coming my way, that I suspect has already begun. Hopefully all of the close-but-not-it men will have made their way through the room and Jake Ryan will have swept me off my feet by December 31.

Arrested Development of my Blog

I've been quite the lazy blogger the last couple of months, swept away in a whirlwind of excuses that include the holidays, road trips, and getting the sack to ante up back onto the wheels of steel. Watch out LA, Mixtine is at it again. (...cricket...)

So since the last time I was bloggally active, I picked up a couple new beaux. Though I'm about three years late (what else is new) to the greatest thing ever to hit TV, I am no less enamored by the immaculately clever writing, sardonic humor and, well, hot men of the most underappreciated dysfunctional family sitcom, Arrested Development. While I have your attention, please take a moment to sign the e-petition to save the show. You will not get spammed, only an email thanking you for your support.

So back to the beaux. January's crush award gets split between brothers Michael and GOB Bluth, played by Jason Batemen (who I've loved since Silver Spoons...okay, no) and Will Arnett (I hate you Amy Poehler...okay, no). I think Michael's super-responsible control freakism and ballsy brilliance of calling his son George Michael makes me feel like there's someone out there to match my own neurosis -- and there is nothing quite like the appeal of a hot nerd. On the other hand, GOB's clueless self-centeredness, male chauvinism and wild-and-crazy-guy magic that masks his heart of boyish gold appeals to my... Well, there is nothing quite like the appeal of a hot funnyman.

So as I recruit one and all to fight the corporate, ratings-driven, heart and humorless Fox execs and the ignorant, unappreciative, brainless masses of which I was just one of, I also fight to keep alive the two alter-egos of my love fantasy. If the show does indeed get cancelled, I'll take it as a sign. Actually, even if it doesn't, I really need to revisit that wrong-sounding sentiment.


The furrowed brow, the bad magic, the crazy family -- it's like they were created for me.

Auld Lang Sign

New Year's Eve is a holiday that's half real, half imaginary. It is indeed the turning of the year, the last day of the year that was, and a celebration of the accomplishment of that. However, it is also a generally overblown night where people feel the need to blow a lot of cash on a really special date.

This year, I celebrated New Year's Eve in Vegas with Kanye West -- gratis, thanks to the LV Food and Beverage Magazine. (Although I did blow a lot of cash at the casino.) And after driving about 600 miles within 48 hours, and screaming my lungs out for two of those hours, it might have been the first time I felt old as I entered the New Year.

Maybe we reach a certain age where the effort to have a good time just doesn't pay off like it used to. I can't remember the last New Year's Eve I had where I just plain kicked it. I've been throwing elaborate parties or skipping town or stalking rappers. This year, I headed to a party of drunk people I mostly didn't know after the concert, and all I wanted to do was go somewhere and sleep. But I got what I wanted for Christmas -- my second free Kanye show of the year, and it sure was worth it.

Happy New Year, people.


My favorite concert moment: When Kanye told us all to sing "Gold Digger" with him, reminding white people that it would be their only chance to say the N word. God, I love that man.


After losing $2 at Keno (plus $120 in craps), 3:30AM. Those are straws coming out of us.