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.

All I Want For Christmas is...Stuff?

Match.com just published it's Top 10 Romantic Gestures of All Time. Regardless of how you feel about Ben's jewel-encrusted toilet seat for J.Lo, Eric Clapton's stealing another rock legend's wife with a song, or one inventor's painfully practical In-Sink-Erator to his dish-dutiful wife, a gift can says a lot about a relationship.

At the time, Richard Burton's multi-million-dollar rock for Liz Taylor may have made many a woman wish he was her knight in shining platinum gold armor. But once they split up, it might be called sadly trying. On the flip side, I know women who pamper their men with niceties often make me wonder if they're playing girlfriend or mother.

So what do people really want from eachother? Like sex, a gift given that is disproportionate to the intimacy that actually exists in a relationship can often be used as a pretense of true love, or even worse, manipulation. Rather than letting a person in and learning to care and even suffer with us (or vice versa), we are content to just convince others -- and ourselves -- that we look loved by what we've gotten. Whether Richard actually loved Elizabeth Taylor either time he married her, or Ben actually gave those rocks to Jennifer as a declaration of how much he truly valued her, I don't know. But dramatic fallouts that rivaled the size of their gifts make me wonder if these were more instances of gift mistaken for love.


Square-cut and pear-shaped are nice, but only a person is a best friend.

Facing Your Femm-esis

There comes a time when every woman must meet her femme-sis. The femme-sis is the anti-you, who has yet somehow managed to become your ex's next. She is (in your mind) the vixen who unkindly deceived your former man into thinking she was his dream come true. She has the agility and speed of a panther, the cunning of a fox, the venom of a python.

But actually meeting Ms. Thing is a different matter. And if you don't come in ready for it, it could send you into a state of confusion. But if you've done your homework and worked through your issues first -- while confrontation is an inevitable part of the healing process, it musn't be rushed -- and you're good and ready, a few things may happen.

1. Toxic Shock Syndrome - Either she really is or she really isn't as bad as she was in your dreams. Either way will come as somewhat of a shock, because in most cases, she will still not be what you expected (few humans have three heads). You will inevitably compare yourself to her, as much as you don't want to. You will try to find new reasons to hate her.

2. Rejection Relapse - Some find themselves in shorter or longer periods of this stage, whereby the differences between self and femme-sis have been documented and entered into the unanswerable rat wheel of "why her and not me." You must wrestle through all of your insecurities, competitive tendencies and general lack of reason in order to get through this one. Some skip this stage, and on the other hand some never emerge.

3. Ex-Evaluation - Because you have acquired new data, it is important -- as with all sciences -- to draw some new conclusions: A new lineup of pet peeves, a new list of "I'll never be with a man who ______" statements, and if you've been dealing with your own junk like a good woman does, a reinforced peace of mind because you've finally let go.

There's Something About Johnny

For once I'm not talking about Johnny Depp. I've found another.

I've always admired Johnny Cash from afar, knowing as much about him and his music that fellow sound-obsessed friend Tmas would naturally effuse whenever given the opportunity. I just knew he was a troubled soul, and when all is said and done, one bad M.F. (Not bad meaning bad, but bad meaning good.)

Then I saw Walk the Line, the biopic I just pre-raved about in previous Sexiest Man Alive post below. I should clarify that when I say "Johnny," in this particular case it's the embodiment of two hot men, Johnny-plus-Joaquin. No disrespect to either Joaquin or the Man in Black himself, but it's the meeting of the hot with the cool that made for one mesmerizing man. I never thought Joaquin would achieve the status of late brother River in my mind and heart, but this was the role that pushed him over the line for me. Maybe it was the acting, maybe it was the vulnerability in wild outlaw turned church boy, maybe it was those songs -- "steady like a train, sharp like a razor" -- whatever it was, I'm wearing black today.


Men in Black

Sexiest Man Alive, Schmexiest Schman Aschlive

People has just named smarmy badboy Matthew McConaughey as 2005 Sexiest Man Alive. Let's have a moment of silence.

In a year where sexiest boy next door Jake Gyllenhaal came out (no pun intended) with a double feature season, sexiest man on Broadway Taye Diggs reprised his role in Rent, the movie, sexiest rapper/producer Kanye West released his sophomore album with close a million sold in the first week, and sexiest biopic actor Joaquin Phoenix played coolest dead country singer Johnny Cash -- I'm sorry, but no.

It should also be noted that Tom Cruise, a former SMA winner, did not appear at all on this year's list. Gee.


Boyish.
Debonair.
Cool.
Uh...no.

The High-Maintenance Man

Some may mistakenly equate him with the Metrosexual. But although the High-Maintenance Man (heretofore referred to as the HMM) is often also a Metro, he is not defined merely by the same superficial qualities regarding style and self-care. To clarify, the HMM is not necessarily a primper -- but he's definitely high-maintenance in a relationship.

Who is he? He's particular, a bit moody, used to being somewhat catered to (HMMs are often youngest childs), a man of strong opinions about most everything, often discerning and intuitive -- as they themselves are generally sensitive to others' needs and expectations. He often has a thoughtful, introspective side -- more of an idealist than a practical "let's make this work" man. He often has a way with the ladies, because he thinks so much like most women.

He is Annakin Skywalker, Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck, or at his worst, Tom Cruise.

The initial draw of the HMM is his sensitivity, and his ability to relate to the HMW (HMWs are a dominant group of the female gender). We feel known by him, we feel like he "gets" us. When he shares some pet peeve or neurosis, we respond with "oh my god, me too!" But like many people, his strength is his weakness. Like the HMW, he is bothered by particular things for reasons only he can identify (or sometimes not). He may need pampering if the wrong button is pushed. And depending on his own development, he may check out relationally for something you said or did that you had no idea would have that effect. The mature HMM (reality check: this is a rarity) will communicate through the neuroses, the less-mature will simply bail and find another playmate. He also is prone to playing mind games, though he may not intend or call it as such.

Low-Maintenance Women attracted to High-Maintenance Men is usually a combo that works well. But if you're an HMW attracted the HMM, compatibility gets a little more complicated. Once you're gotten past those easily identifiable flags -- Does he lie? No. Does he have the same values? Yes. Is he a codependent people-pleaser, slash needy for the affirmation of women? No. -- where do you go from there? Is one relationship just too small for two high-maintenance personalities? Is there just too much sensitivity and neurosis in that equation? Is the attraction really just an ego trip -- they're the guys most like us girls, making me still at the center?

The union of the HMW to the HMM is not an impossibility. But if you are in one of those high-maintenance/high-maintenance relationships, you must be healthy enough to deal with conflict and heed the warning signs. If you're playing Mommy and your needs have gone out the window, it's time to re-evaluate.


Yeah, NO.

Holy Crap

Between random tree trunks, a rotten grilled cheese sandwich and dirty underwear stains, I'm officially sick of the damn "I swear it's the face of Jesus and the holy mother Mary hidden in the fizz on that beer billboard" news. Granted, I've never been one to see the images on those teal mottled collages or even constellations other than the Big Dipper (iffy). But come on, people.


I'm sorry, is that Tupac Shakur?

For the Love of the DJ

If you're one of those who is in constant search for the perfect dance floor, I'm here to tell you Eureka, I've found it. Over the weekend I had the priviledge of watching my Scratch Academy profs Mr. Choc and DJ Hapa spin the 1s and 2s to create one of the most killer sets I've heard in a while. Choc had the real hip-hop covered, switching decades faster than you could say "I love this song," while Hapa went One DJ Fits All with everything from the Marvin Gaye to Snoop Dogg, to New Order to Bon Jovi -- he very well could have been digging into my own music collection. It was hot, hot, hot. They both nodded warm hellos to their former pupil-slash-girl who couldn't leave the dance floor, and she left inspired to hit those 1200s with renewed vigor.

To love it for yourself, Choc and Hapa will be DJing the gig known as "The Bridge" every fourth Saturday of the month at Little Temple Bar in Silver Lake.

Oh, and I might mention to the other ladies that it was nice and laid back on the vibe factor. Meaning no annoying Butt Man trying to freak you. There were even small clusters sans men that could enjoy the groove undisturbed. Major plus.

That Girl

Whether or not I ever get married or even date again, I have made a personal commitment never to become That Girl. And aside from what the whole of society might tell you, being single does not mean sacrificing your self-respect. And so, with you as my witnesses, I inwardly vow not to be...

- The Gwyneth: Wears retail as a security blanket. Clad in name brand and with nary a hair out of place, that girl is better dressed than most of the marrieds (or women period) at a party.

- The Bridget: Considers singleness a sickness. Casually peppers conversation with mention of her age and singlehood as if it were the plague. Awkward pause.

- The Angelina: The unattainable "other" woman, and she likes it that way. Flirts with all of the unavailable men (whether matrimonially or otherwise) and mostly ignores the singletons, then complains about there being no good guys out there.

- The Patricia: Warning -- prone to self-explosion. Talks endlessly about the important people she's connected with and cutting edge things she's involved in, hides how she really feels about herself behind her busy-ness.

- The Katie: Worships the studs of Hollywood fantasydom. Wants Richard Gere (or - er - Tom Cruise) to whisk her idealized Julia Roberts self on a white steed, a la Pretty Woman. Coos and cries how "The Notebook" was the greatest depiction of true love ever in film.

So how exactly to avoid becoming That Girl is a tricky matter. Unfortunately, frowning upon the women who do and are the aforementioned is actually not enough -- there are little bits of her in all of us. We cling to fantasy and affirmation for security and material possession for escape (or vice versa). But take a good long moment every so often to ask yourself what girl you really want to be, pray for a little understanding about perseverance and hope, and you're off to a good start.

Men for Sale -- Everything Must Go!

The older you get, the more your singleness starts to feel like a blowout sale.

When you start out, you are browsing for selection. This one looks better, this one fits better, this one seems nice but is way overpriced. Then items start to clear out. Some bought their sought-after mate at full price early on, so as not to lose him or her. Some looked around a while, buying and returning once or twice, then settled on someone at a fair value. But like all sales, the momentum picks up with time. Prices drop, selections grow more scarce -- especially the ones in your size -- and you need to jump in and grab before someone else does. Browsing has now become a frenetic search for what you want, and the clock is ticking.

If you're picky, like me, and must have everything just so before making a purchase -- material, washability, durability and a decent price -- the shopping spree can start to feel like a real drag. It's hard enough to find something you're prepared to invest in. But when he gets snatched right off the shelf in front of your nose, it can be very disheartening.

It's tempting then to walk out with nothing and toss in the towel. And that's okay. But a relationship is no superfluous extra jacket or pair of shoes. If it's something you really want and you walked in ready to buy (with no bad credit hanging over your head), eventually you've gotta pull out that checkbook and walk back in again. The clearance section may run out, but you never know when the new season's stock will arrive.

The Younger Man

For women, considering dating a younger man is not the same as a man dating a younger women. Some women claim that it's because men develop emotionally more slowly (read: are less mature) than women. But there are also other reasons.

The last thing a woman wants to do in a relationship is raise her boyfriend. In some ways, this will be inevitable. There is a fairly universal cluelessness that men are born with in certain areas -- they usually require a little coaching in sensitivity and sometimes social graces. Don't get me wrong -- some of us love to do this. With nurturing in our nature, we love to take care of our men in ways that are appropriate in a good symbiotic relationship. But when you get to the level of "stop pouting and shutting down" or "did you know a relationship involves two people?" and it's not getting any better, the age thing only weighs in on the feeling that your boyfriend has suddenly become your son.

So what's a girl to do when she's pushing 30 and the eligible men her age and up are dropping like flies? Well if you're Demi Moore, you're way beyond pushing 30 and you dive headfirst into that pool of you-could-be-my-son. Some never can break out of thinking anyone 27 and younger as bordering on illegal. And others will start to widen that door that previously only let a stray mid-20-er float through as someone who could make it on the 3-5 year plan. Only this gets complicated, because everyone has their own unspoken threshold of how old or young they will really go. And every person at age twenty-something is not at the same place of, well, emotional development (read: maturity).

I'll tell you this: There's nothing to push a single woman from 29 straight into mid-life crisis like a younger man making a jab at her age. And he's like 26. Dude, it's all relative.


Yippee-cay-ay, M.F.

The Ex Factor

Now I don't lose my place like I used to
I'm not moved by your artful display
You can't draw me in like you used to
But you can still ruin my day
-- Jon Brion

What is it about the Ex that seems to come back, even years after issues have been worked through, lessons have been learned -- at least within yourself -- and you've moved on? You meet his new girlfriend, he breaks up, he gets married... Depending on how you are doing at the moment you hear the news, it can still put a real damn damper on your day. If you're secure in your identity and the knowledge that you are loved by God, you're at a solid, "Good for him." On the other hand, if the issues of long term singleness have newly been stirred by something or you're just plain have a bad week for poor self-image, you can be back to, "Is there really justice in this world?"

The Relationship Really Did Happen
Even more interestingly, as you are on this vulnerable road, all manner of responses come out of those around you, especially when your friendship circles intersect. Denial - "Laugh and pretend things are normal, and they will be." Awkwardness - "If I avoid eye contact, maybe we don't have to deal with this for a while." Fear - "Who are you again?" Avoidance - "Let's just have an unspoken agreement that the other person doesn't exist." Meanwhile, a simple acknowledgment of the obvious is all it usually takes to break the weirdness and make a person feel like they aren't going crazy.


The Healing Process
There is an ebb and flow to getting over the Ex factor. The initial waves are more like a roller coaster -- riding high one week, on the verge of despair the next. But as time goes on and emotions get healed (not repressed), the waves are gentler and the lows more far between. Then eventually, you get to the point where it's no longer about time or distance, but purely about your own ability to let go of whatever litter remains of the debris that was your breakup.

The Hope
I believe now more than ever that it is possible to fully heal from the Ex factor. I'm well down that road myself. However, it doesn't mean it will never stop being weird that a person you once shared so much with has by the necessity of appropriateness becomes less than an acquaintance. The fully healed no longer take it personally and stop wondering what could have been. In the furthest along of cases, relief and joy actually replace it.

There Are No Good Women Out There

No, I haven't become a lesbian. But the phrase, "There are no good guys out there" is one that we've all heard somewhere before, and if you're a woman, you've probably said it at least once. I was once an avid user of the phrase myself, starting late high school and peaking at about age 22. When all is said and done, I was a habitual user for about half my life, really.

But two years ago, the dark year happened. It was my second year of counseling and things were really picking up momentum, especially since it coincided with a non-boyfriend situation that taught me how bad a girl's issues can blind her to the obvious (this is a lesson we women must learn at least three times before actually getting). As a result, I have started to see the -- er -- one-sidedness of that catch-phrase, which often operates as a crutch for women with some form of big fat relationship fear or a pretty comparable sized lack of self-awareness. So here is my letter of apology to single men at large, washed down with a gulp of pride:

Dear Men,
This is a confession. Women have issues. We sometimes judge you by impossible to meet standards. Or worse yet, expect good things out of emotionally unavailable men when the emotionally available are totally out there initiating, then call you all "no good" (isn't that stereotyping?). We acknowledge that several factors in the last couple of decades have increased the challenge for men -- the rise of feminism and an increase in dad issues has blurred lines of who initiates and when, what's too much and what's too little, put the responsibility for our self-worth and well-being unfairly into your hands, and overall just not cut you much slack. This doesn't excuse passivity, selfishness, egotism and certainly not dishonesty, but it does acknowledge that 1. not all of you are like that and 2. for every man with any of the above issues, there is a woman to toy with your mind, blow you off for reasons you don't understand and are not communicated to you, or play into your issues by squelching her own identity and not being real with you. And that warrants an honest to goodness apology.

Yours truly (because "Love" would be too gray and undefined),
A Sympathetic (but not a sucker) Woman

P.S. Actually, the one that would really get me if I were in your shoes -- okay, it pisses me off even not being in your shoes -- are those girls who will fool you into believing they are your dream woman and then treat others that are close to you like shit because they feel threatened by them. My advice would be to heed the warning signs and back away from this particular type. That's a mind game you can't win.

Losing His Virginity

The very title of the movie "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" left me at a loss for words when I first heard it. The obvious implication is of course that there really is no one out there who hasn't had sex by age 40. There's also the suggestion that if you haven't done it by age 40, you are either a closeted something or other, or there is clearly something wrong with you. The fact of the movie was a sign of the times.

The movie itself suprised me though. Yes, it had its share of gratuitous graphic sex jokes and a clear anti-PC thrust of men moving back to their beer 'n' lust caveman roots. But Andy the virgin wasn't half the nerd-slash-loser the billboards and previews made him out to be. Rather, he was quite a relateable -- and it should be noted, highly unusual these days -- man who had learned to fill his life with things other than an obsession with sex. I even found myself cheering a bit at the end, though with mixed feelings about the message of the overall film. It clearly confirmed my own read that our culture has flushed whatever shred of sanctity of marriage and sex existed even 15 years ago down the fungus-y, pond-scummy gutter and that abstinence is officially the new dirty word.

In a recent article on the celibate celebrity, the rarity of the virgin is discussed. When it comes to the industry, it's hard to say what came first -- did Britney lose her virginity in an act with her ex-pubescent boyfriend, or was her innocence already kaput from her "I'm not that innocent" moves on the big stage? Somewhere between my teens, when it was a really big friggin' deal that Brenda did it with bad boy Dylan on 90210, and today, when we see parents cheering on their kids for giving it up on The O.C., something went more than a little out of control. The problem is, people are also more depressed, have lower self-esteem and are more confused about their identity than ever. It's all so f-ed up. Literally.

The Sex Hair Type

We all know what it is, we maybe just never articulated it. Most Laker girls and Dallas cowboy cheerleaders have it. Angelina Jolie has won many a married man with it. Women over the decades have quickened pulses with it, from Rita Hayworth to Elle Macpherson. It's that long, tousled, slightly unkempt mane a woman sports for the wild feminine look my friend J-dub has labeled "sex hair."

The just-out-of-bed look is most recently spotted on Catherine Keener in the summer flick phenom, "The 40 Year Old Virgin" (concept alone will merit its own blog soon to come). A male coworker confessed that he and his friend made the do a major topic of discussion post-viewing, and another chimed in that her man also mentioned "really liking her hair." Sex hair has somehow snuck under the radar of desired features, falling a far third to the two more cliche body parts. But never underestimate the power of hair. That is, of course, if you are into that sort of power.

Personally, I find it ironic that women with a full head of thick, abundant hair are constantly doing all they can to control it: straight perming, layering, learning the exact length it can't go shorter than or you'll risk having UFO-head. The natural look takes a ton of product. Would men be so taken with those flowing locks if they had to wait hours and spend hundreds to perfect it? Is that what broke up Ben and J.Lo?


To men: A fantasy
To women: A nightmare of conditioner

Starting from SCRATCH

As my roommate situation is officially in flux and I've already lost one to the inland empire, I'm also finishing up my third DJ class, Scratch 202. There are certain seasons in life that are signified by change -- and by change I mean a loss of the way relationships were before and the beginning of some new ones.

At such times as this, there's nothing like a little music therapy. Here are a few that come to mind that have helped me get through some beginnings and ends, or seasons of relationships. I personally have found it therapeutic to make mixes out of transitional times. Of course, I do wanna be a DJ...

Breakup? Jon Brion's "Ruin My Day" (Meaningless), John Legend's "Used to Love You" (Get Lifted), Radiohead's "Let Down"
Transition? Keane's "Everybody's Changing" (Hopes and Fears)
Getting over relationship? Howard Jones' "Everlasting Love," Voice of the Beehive's "Adonis Blue" (Honey Lingers)
Your issues? The Bangles' "If She Knew What She Wants" (Different Light), Billy Joel's "She's Always a Woman" (The Stranger)
Nostalgia? Oingo Boingo's "We Close Our Eyes" (Boi-ngo)
Saying goodbye? "For Good" (Wicked soundtrack)
Frustrated? New Order's "Love Less," James' "Say Something" (Laid)
Family whatever? Kanye West's "Family Business" (College Dropout)
Comfort song? Stevie Wonder's "Knocks Me Off My Feet" (Close of the Century collection)

I think everyone has their own soundtrack -- or if you're like me, multiple ones. Not all of these are even good songs. Sometimes it just takes a killer beat with the right resonant phrase. Seriously -- thank God for music.


Break it down like this.

Crushless in August

I don't know what that says. You might say it's healthy that there's no male object of fantasy, especially after last month's acknowledgement of idealization issues. You might say having a series of nightmares about past boyfriends and their self-centeredness or some recent close-but-not-really options has tired me to the gender in general. Or maybe in a month soon to come I'll actually have a real crush, who can say.

But like Jennifer Aniston, I've been through therapy, I'm learning to deal, and I still believe in happily ever after (with some hard work, of course).

On Being 20...For the Last Time

Turning 29 -- I'm told -- is actually worse than turning 30. 29 is the oldest year of your 20s, whereas 30 is the very bottom of your 30s. Yeah, I don't really buy it either. At 29, I'm in my last year of quasi-youth (and quickly losing it).

At the same time, I certainly will not miss the decade of much self-imposed angst, drama and general confusion about my identity. You enter your 20s thinking you have it all figured out with a nice laundry list of goals to achieve by the big 3-0. You leave them realizing you are probably just about starting adulthood. Career path: uncheck. Life's calling: uncheck. Marriage: uncheck. Prospects: TBD.

But according to Psalm 139, my whole life was intimately mapped out for me before I was even born. And I can proudly say as I enter my 30th year of life, that that makes me breathe a nice big sigh of relief. It means I don't have to give in to the sex-and-power-driven rules this world abides by -- and meanwhile, the possibilities of where laundry-list items 1-4 can go are endless. As I read meaningful notes written to me from a few close friends today, I felt one thing only: grateful. Grateful I made it through another year without giving in, grateful to have real friendships that have withstood some pretty hard times, grateful that my life with God gives me a future with hope as I've seen hope crumble over many others' terrible 20s. I'm less in control than I've ever been...and it feels great.


Me clinging for dear life on a Sit 'n' Spin. Things can only go up from here.

What is Good

Meanwhile the Emperor Penguins are doing great. There is hope left in this world.


You know that girl who obsesses over anything cuddly and non-human? I'm so not that girl -- but I can't find fault with this little bun. Apparently neither can millions of movie watchers.

Jenifa, Oh Jenny

Stop the presses. Jennifer has spoken.

Hearing snippets of the article that is on it's way to my mailbox, I don't deny it, only confirms what my ESP already told me about the Brennifer fallout. Contrast Jenifa's vulnerability with Brad's vague talk of their altered form of love and I don't know what with Angelina, and I gotta say badly done, Brad. Badly done.

Thing is, there will always be someone hotter out there. Jude did it to Sienna, Brad to Jennifer and there are countless other stories. Of course, that also means that there's someone even hotter than Angelina and the Nanny, too. It comes down to that damn human you-can-never-get-enough-of-what-you-don't-really-need nature.

Other headlines today: Renee Zellweger is Having Marriage Problems and Jessica and Nick Rumored to Have Filed for Divorce. Those are both big shockers, I know.

July Crush, Post-Script

A couple of honorable mentions for July's Crush of the Month...

1. I finally saw Batman Begins and must concur with tpb, that Christian Bale is one tasty morsel of a superhero. If anyone else out there can kick Liam Neeson's ass while lisping his way through the dialogue and pull it off like it ain't no thing, I will also call you hot. And how adorable is a man who says this: I enjoy saying "my wife." I made a guy apologize to her the other night because he was rude. After saying, "You, apologize to my wife," I couldn't stop laughing because it felt great to say it.

2. Last month marked what would have been Tupac Shakur's 34th birthday. Having just watched Tupac: Resurrection, I became a fan all over again -- only this time in more of that obsessed and in love kind of way. Just kidding -- but not really. The guy had enough charisma, talent, leadership and straight heart to become the most influencial rap artist in history. I live in the hood -- we've all got love for Pac. He alone can rap about being a player and actually keep my respect. Because he's not glorifying it, it's just real. Special features also show Snoop Dogg attributing Pac as the one who saved his marriage. Now if only my boys would take that one in.


Man in the cape


Man in the hood

P.P.S. How much more unavailable are a married superhero and a dead man? It's all in July's Crush Theme I suppose.

For Your Reading Pleasure

...and my reading pain.

Bloggers Learn the Price of Telling Too Much

Thanks to homeslice JV for this link.

Worst Comes to Worst, My Peoples Come First

There's nothing like a trip home to remind you where all of your psychosis comes from. I learned the following on my visit with the 'rents last week:

1. The countries of Asia jointly signed a secret pact rejecting all schools of thought regarding psychology, that may or may not have been lifted by now.
2. What the world needs now -- in addition to love, sweet love -- is some really good listeners.
3. When you put a man and woman together, there many mathematical combinations of dysfunction, but also some room for some killer qualities (if you're lucky).

The Celebrity Dating Scene

A few months ago, before Brangelina blew over, a coworker overheard a couple of gals at her health club gabbing about one of their dates that night -- a setup with Brad Pitt. (Note: The girl was Asian. It really could have been me.) Now, friend JJ Fad may be set up with a former big dog pro-athlete.

I think we've all clued into the fact that America really is not the land of opportunity, nor is Hollywood the place where dreams come true. But only in LA are you really six degrees within dating a celebrity. Of course the catch is, they're just people too.

Now Luke (Wilson), will you please call me?

No Sex Quotes

"You know how I said before I'd rather be with someone for the wrong reasons than alone for the right? I'd rather be right." -- Amanda Jones, Some Kind of Wonderful (1987)

Back in the day when John Hughes rocked my world of movies, and the Brat Pack spoke the profound truths about our generation's insecurities, fears and cover-ups (hello, Andie Walsh), Howard Deutsch directed this brilliant one -- one of John Hughes' most underrated.


Keith: You always hurt the ones you love. Watts: So when are you going to beat the shit out of Amanda Jones?

July "Un-Crush" of the Month: Agent Jack Bauer

This is a special edition of "Crush of the Month." Yes, I am in love with Jack Bauer. But I say "uncrush" because this love is the kind that actually reveals something messed up about the way I process love.

Jack Bauer is an agent with the CTU -- counter terrorist unit -- on the hit FOX series 24. As my co-obsessed friends and I were indulging in the first of two 4-6 hour marathons over the weekend (as 24 should rightly be ingested), I professed my love for the ever-dedicated, badass-yet-selflessly-caring, gentle with women but can interogate/torture the bad guys like no one else, and of course with the brain of a street-smart strategic genius. Much to my shock, cohort Bahn Mi spit out, "Why? He's got emotional issues." And in a simple exchange, I was cut to the heart.

Somehow, FOX TV has created a quintessential fantasy man, covered him in chocolate and sprinkled him with a miracle or two for this BAK. He's hot, he's intense, he's deep -- but he's (ding, ding) emotionally unavailable.


I'll gladly drop and give you 20, Jack.


Who is this international man of mystery?

So because I've already declared to myself and you all that I'm kicking the Woman Drug habit, I must call this one an "uncrush." It was never meant to be.