It’s been a long long time
It’s been a long long time since you were here
So many days have gone by
So many changes since you disappeared

But I know you had to go
You weren’t very happy here
Oh no
Yeah I know you had to go
Somewhere and face your fears

Sometimes it takes space to see
Those things that seemed unclear while you were there
I know your insecurities
Can really make you feel like no one cares

So I know you had to go
Things weren’t so good for you here
Oh no
Yeah I know you had to go
Out there and face your fears
And I
Oh I want you to know
I’m here
I…
Oh I want you to know better

I love you more than this life will ever let you see

Until this year! So seven years later, on Cinco de Mayo (actually Saturday, Uno de Mayo), we finally had our highly anticipated Mexican party. It was perfect except for one detail: Over time I had managed to rip, and then lose my traditional Mexican fiesta dress (I last remember seeing it in Las Vegas). I waited until the day of to replace it, thinking I could easily pick one up in Guadalupe, Arizona (also known a s Little Mexico), but as it turns out, not only do they not carry authentic Mexican fiesta dresses in the shops there, but the store attendants get quite offended when you look White and ask if they know where to find one.

The party came on the eve of the passing of SB1070, a controversial initiative intended to crack down on illegal immigration in the state of Arizona, mostly targeted at Mexican immigrants. Favored by politicians, the bill was generally not well received by the Hispanic communities and much of my generation, mostly for the tactics permitted including jailing anyone suspect of being an immigrant if they do not have their paperwork with them until it is resolved, or determined they are an illegal immigrant and many activist groups since cried “racial profiling.” And yes, my family, while all legal immigrants or citizens, are not fond of it either.

Since the bill’s passing, any announcement of my intent to visit home is inevitable receiving with at least one or two jokes about watching for border patrol and having my birth certification or passport with me which is only funny because 1) I have a very white last name and 2) other than my dark hair and eyes I don’t look Mexican at all. I more often am presumed to be Italian. This was also only funny up until the night when while out with friends in Hollywood, I reach into my unzipped purse to discover my phone and my wallet both gone. Including my passport and any other form of photo ID days before a scheduled trip to Arizona. With California’s continuous minimizing of government services, the process to get a duplicate drivers license was proving to be much more longer and complicated than expediting a passport. In fact, within 10 days I was able to reestablish identity, passport in hand, by having a friend accompany me to the passport agency and swear that I am who I say I am.

And then this happened.

I was extremely nervous for the first real read through and critique of the most critical chapters of PGB from a group of editors who are helping me to push the proposal. A recent heartbreaking experience inspired me to rewrite the end for Jimmy and Alexia and the results took my breath away. Before presenting it to the team I let my best friend read it, the first time I’ve ever let anyone read my fiction writing. I was relieved they all seemed to love it nearly as much as I do, but in considering the whole story of the book’s central love story, it was suggested I study the relationship of one of Mexico’s most famous couples in history: Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera. One suggested my portrayal of Jimmy almost reads like a modern day version of Rivera, a notorious womanizer who loved Kahlo deeply, but was never capable of fidelity and never pretended to be. The comparison was shocking and almost painful when then applied (in my mind) to the real-life influences, but as I began to study, and then fall madly in love, with the real-life romance story, I realized that what my editors read as an overly machismo and heartless portrayal of Jimmy, is possibly more so a subconscious act of defensive against my own similarities to Kahlo and her side of the story. After watching the Selma Hayek lead film for the first time, later Saturday afternoon I was ecstatic to find a copy of The Diary Of Frida Kahlo and read it cover to cover in one sitting. I cried nearly all the way through it, reading and relating to her feelings of helplessness in her deep love for the infamous mujeriego.

Are Diego and Jimmy one and the same? Yes and no. In PGB, Jimmy represents the Mexicano machismo stereotype to bid. He is an exaggeration whereas his counterpart Alex is the more realistic Mexi-American charmer. Both have a heart and both mean well, but Jimmy is struggling with something more than just inherent charm. The overly outward characteristics of his personality are a direct reflection of insecurities that have nothing to do with being Latino. Diego Rivera in theory could have be constituting for the same thing. Rivera was not known has the most attractive of men in a culture where looks are prevalent and important. In the movie, his second wife Lupe says that while you couldn’t tell by looking at him, he has been with half the women in the room. She tells Frida, their attraction to him is the way he looks at you, the way he makes you feel important. While Jimmy’s insecurities are not as physical, his charm is similar.Jimmy, like Lexy, comes from humble beginning as shapes himself into a person of note and substance. He has a standard “game” that will work on most women on the room, but his tactics with Lexy, who has known him since childhood, are different. Her resistance to his charm and his love of a challenge catapults them both into an unexpected obsession that ultimately leaves Lexy both heartbroken and angered with herself.

Like Frida, Lexy finds herself enamored with a man with whom she knows she shouldn’t be. Her sane mind tells her there is no reason to care for this man and no reason not to move on. But there is something that tortures her heart when it comes to Jimmy, more so than any of the other men who would seem a much more likely fit. Like Frida, Lexy’s tragic love affects her day life and her tortures her for a longer period of time than her friends think it should. In the diary of Frida, the painstaken artist describes feelings of physically sensing her sanity leaving her. There are numerous nonsensical ramblings addressing Rivera. Tracing the actual (Spanish) hand-writing of Frida Kahlo in her darkest hour and reading the thoughts running through her head as she wrestles with her one-sided love for Rivera is heartbreaking and torturous for an artist who can relate to every word. For the past few days since, my heart has felt as heavy as it did in the moment I asked my own “Diego” to leave me be once and for all. One of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my lifetime. Years after the fact, I am shocked my heart can still hurt so bad.

Jimmy, as he is written in PGB, isn’t any one personal experience in my life, but rather a combination of experiences of mine and my friends, primarily with Mexcian and Latin men. (Keep in mind,  I have lived in four of the five most Hispanic-centric metropolises in the country: Phoenix, Miami, Los Angeles and Las Vegas.) But like any heroine, I of course have one central love interest that has been a grand inspiration through it, mostly in a painful way. Yes, he is a gorgeous, charming, Hispanic man who I adore. He was the person who inspired me to pick up PGB and write again. He found the version of my I love most. He encouraged me in everything I did. And when the time came, while he never really wronged me, he hurt me worse than anyone ever could, by doing hardly anything at all. It’s not something I’ve talked about much since here, or in my personal life [insert sigh and rolling of eyes of my three closest friends here] but perhaps that plays in part too why years after the fact, it still hurts me every single day.

I wish I had the appreciation I have today for Frida Kahlo one year ago when I saw her exhibit at Las Bellas Artes in Mexico City. I even bought a journal covered in her art and wrote a few chapters of the book in it, but I had no idea just how much I actually have in common with the tortured artist who on the surface, I have nothing in common with at all. What we have in common: A vulnerable heart, passion for love, ability to love openly, unconditionally and forgive a need for growth. And of course, a determine for our individual arts.

After reading through The Diary of Frida Kahlo, I, like the commentators who narrate it, and the writers who have reviewed it, could say a lot about her. Passionate, creative genius, tortured, love sick. But insane will never be one of them. Frida, I get it. I. Get. It.

I’m no poet, and I haven’t decided yet if or how this might be incorporated into PGB, but the feelings the weekend’s studies have brought up inspired me nonetheless to write my own “letter”of sorts for my own Jimmy-Diego. Even if it will likely never see the light of his mailbox inbox, it is one of the most honest and painful things I have ever written outloud.

The years, they’ve passed. Time has come and gone. Again, and again, and again.

They said with time, this too, shall pass. Yours, it seems has grown less and less. Yet, mine, has only grown deeper, stronger.

Laying here, thinking of you. I feel myself paralyzed with pain. My sanity I feel, completely slipping away from me.

There is no turning back now. I struggle to find reason to breach ahead.

Time has refused to heal this wound.

How can Mother Nature be so cruel as to make the heart a one-way street? To allow one to love, so hard, so unjustly, unconditionally and for nothing in return. Only to be left with nothing more than tears and the hope that one day the pain shall at least, subside.

There is no longer hope for restitution for this love. Only that one day, the heartbreak will die.

One day.

With hope.

One can only hope.

Well back in Hollywood for almost a month now: work is nuts, I’m not allowed to write about my love life anymore , and I got a really exciting call from a major literary name I was not expecting that has pushed things into high gear!! So, I’m officially going on a hiatus to focus on getting the book ready to shop. I’ve been very lucky to have several contacts reach out wanting to help out but the pressure is on to be ready asap AND I’ve recently been inspired to make one last major change that will affect everything (and God-willing the sequel) but I finally feel like the story has come fully together and not a moment too soon!! In the meantime, one last set of Best Ofs until we come back with a whole new site as we start documenting the push of PGB!! Wish me luck!! xo

How To Date A Mexican Family

Because when your date a Mexicana, you date her entire family. ALL of them

Gringo Guide: How To Date A Mexican Family

Social Experimentation: Love, Los Angeles Style.

Swimming through the Craiglists sea of love

Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3

Catholic Mother Guilt Trips

Because no one can make you wish you were never born quite like your Catholic mother

Part 1, Part 2 and “Fan” Mail

How To Attract A Mexican Man

Hey, you asked for it

Required Reading: eHow-How To Attract A Mexican Man

NEW: Sex With A Half Mexican: The Politics Of Equal Opportunity Dating

Keeping your dating habits in compliance

Part 1

Unsolicited Mexican Dating Advice

I highly doubt Googling “sexy mexican dating” leads to better advice than this

Part 1 and Part 2

Gringo Guide: How To Introduce Your Mexican Boyfriend To Your Mexican Family

Spoiler Alert: Don’t.

Part 1 and Part 2

No go on How To Introduce Your Jewish Boyfriend To Your Mexican Family for now. At least I have that as a bargaining chip if we ever break up.

NEW: Fun With Society: Online Mexican Support Groups

Turns out when seeking Mexican advice, there’s worse options than Craigslist

Who knew?

More interesting then the answer to just a more creepy way to search the typical, “how to date a Mexican man,” is the top results that come up in Google when this term is placed into search:

1. Interracial Dating — How To Information : eHow.com

Oh, eHow. You slay me. Yet again, the seeming go-to beacon of dating advice comes out on top in the never-ending competition to lue in Web traffic via creepy dating advice seekers.

2. Can a 16 year-old girl date and 22 year-old guy? : AnswerBag

Turning up in the same search as this makes me never want to write again and report immediately to the nearest nunnery.

3.  Mexican Culture: How can you tell if a Mexican girl is interested …

So a pudgy guy in accounting seeks advice of strangers on the world wide web because a Latina in the cafeteria (I’m being totally serious, I couldn’t make that up if I wanted to) is friendly to him. Society’s advice? Oh, well Mexicans as a race tend to be nice and outgoing so you can’t read into that. Uhhh, how can you tell if a Mexican girl is interested? The same way you can tell if any other girl is interested douchebag, grow a pair and ask her. Geez.

4. Never Trust a Man With a Mustache. Mustachio’d Men Annoy Me

Believe it or not, this one is on Yelp. What does this site just let you post anything any crazy on the street wants to grip about?

5. Required Reading: eHow — How To Attract A Mexican : The Politics Of Going Blonde

Ahhhh, yeah bitches! #5 in the Google search! Moving on up! Take that eHow … Oh, wait. Damn it, eHow. I’m coming for you.

A big part of my day job is interviewing people. For maybe 200 people a year, 15-20 minutes with me determines a person’s fate at working at my company. Rub me the wrong way and you’ll never see the light of employment in my company again. Of course, as the gatekeeper of career destiny, I too am bound by law to set criteria by which I can not disqualify a person for. A listing of standards by which in the times of equal rights and employer compliance, have been pounded into the heads of not only business owners by society in general as a means by which no human being should be judged including race and religion. But the other night when a friend suggests that my hesitation with the Jewish man in my life for the past year and a half now and tendency to pull back whenever it trends toward serious may be in fact a result of my apprehension toward ever telling my tradition Catholic family that I am in fact serious with a Jewish man, the wave of guilt quickly emerges. While I believe I have my own justifiable reasons for wanting to keep it cas with B, what if this were a factor? After all, it is not impossible that making such an admission to my family could result in complete and total abandonment. Has this standard set by law also set society’s standards of acceptance when judging a candidate for dating? Am I a bad person if I prefer to date someone who does actually believe in Jesus Christ?

I remember the first time I realized B was Jewish. It took probably three times for him to mention Hanukkah for it to set in. It never really occurred to me before that I may have a problem with dating a Jewish man, but then again I’ve never been involved with one before. My heart sank a little while I immediately pictured my mother having an absolute breakdown at the thought of my having to denounce Christ for love. Oddly enough, every man I’ve found interesting in Hollywood since: Jewish.

The U.S. Department of Labor defines discrimination as: Any act or failure to act, impermissible based in whole or in part on a person’s race, color, religion, sex, national origin or age.

Sounds silly but I think to some degree our generation has had this list impounded in our heads from childhood on as the same list by which one should never choose their friends, associates or even lovers. Yes, I’ve had some friend’s whose parents views on staying within one own’s race or religion maintained through, but for the most part, where I grew up, interracial dating in the teen years was almost as trendy as a quickie divorce is today. In fact over the years I’ve found myself more attracted to men with a similar upbringing and brckground to myself than I had in my youth.

So how do the EEO’s criteria apply in modern dating?

1. Race/Color. A quick search of interracial dating will pull up a plethora of sites geared toward helping singles find their interracial match. And if that isn’t proof enough that interracial dating isn’t the tabu today that it once was, the reoccurring of such search terms that direct newcomers to this blog including: “white girl how to attract a Mexican man,” “blonde dating mexican,” “mexican white sex,” and “sexy Latina dating,” should be.

2.Religion. Home for the first time in months, I’m glad I was a few glasses of wine in with Roomies 1 and 2 before my long lost Roomie #3 came home late from what I later found out was Friday night church … in a knee-length skirt and clogs. Come to find out in the time I had been gone, my gorgeous, 5’10″, actress/model roommate has begun dating an Orthodox Jew who’s mother will not allow her in her home because she is Christian. Therefore she is converting. Taryn, my Jewish Princess bff is completely astonished when I tell her this and starts spouting off random facts about Orthodox Judaism including theories that my roommate will have to shave her head on her wedding night and forgo driving her BMW on weekends.

Sounds crazy but to be fair, this is far from the first friend of mine who has converted to Judaism for a man. Being raised Catholic, I remember being taught at a young age that if someone loves you, they will convert. My immediate question that has always gone unanswered was: How does that apply if that person’s religion theory is the same? In every case I know of to date, Judaism has won. Pays to be endorsed by Madonna.

3. Age. The other day, my other roommates tells me that her and her boyfriend of six months have decided to move in together. Having been down that road before, I feel the need to be the voice of reason and run through the logic with her to make sure she is sure. Reason number one listed on the “cons” side of the logistical argument: He’s 24, six years her junior.

Whoa. Now 34 to 40? Not such a big deal? But age 24 for a male is an age of growth and experience yet to come. So much happens to a person in their early-to-mid 20s, it’s hard for me to look at her and tell her this should be the one. The cougar jokes commence as we discuss this but in a town where Demi and Ashton are the queen and king of romantic longetvity, it’s hard to saw what is legitimate dating law anymore.

4. National Origin. Is this different than race? Yes. Especially in Mexican culture. There is a BIG difference between a first generation Mexican and a man who is of Mexican ethnicity, but can not pin point his family’s origin in Mexico. Which is better? Depends on who you ask. To a first generation Mexican family, the closer you can stick to home the better. A twice or third-time removed Mexican is often the same as bringing home a gringo. Only a fluent knowledge of Spanish and identifiable accent will save him.

For me, technically I am considered a first generation but speaking in completely inappropriate terms, I’ve been told my White half cancels that out. But the older I get the more I appreciate a man that can relate to my Mexican/Catholic upbringing and my family culture. Perhaps that is my hesitation with B. Not only does he not know anything about Mexican culture beyond common “You might be Mexican if …” jokes, he has never been intrigued by it either. Being Polynesian, he visits family in Hawaii nearly as often as I visit Mexico, but sharing our cultures has never been a big part of our dynamic. On the other hand ask me about my Mexican crush, and I can tell you everything about his upbringing. Trading stories about crazy Catholic mothers is how he got my attention and we’ve never let go of the Mexican bond since.

5. Sex. Several months ago while at a party in Hollywood, I meet a friend of a friend who I immediately find adorable. I’m not really into the Hollywood Hollywood kind of guy. It takes an element of real to grab my attention in this town and even though this gorgeous specimen we’ll call, Paul, had the “I’m far too cool to acknowledge your existence,” act down to a science, I remained intrigued.

Cut to several months later when he turns up at another gathering of friends and approaches me and to my surprise, remembers everything about me. We have a long engaging chat in which my crush is reignited until a man shows up who Paul seems particularly fond of. Come to find out, this man is Paul’s ex-boyfriend. Then he returns to me to tell me a story about his ex-girlfriend before asking if we can grab dinner sometime. I am both shocked and baffled. Paul is the definitive example of a person who doesn’t discriminate based on sex.

“It’s like that episode of Sex and the City,” Taryn says when I fill her in. I adore everything about Paul, we have amazing conversation and he is incredibly good looking in a not-fake-Hollywood way. But is it wrong if I can’t fathom the idea of dating a guy who once dated, a guy?

Suddenly accepting that the man in my life doesn’t believe in Christ doesn’t seem like such a big thing.

I used to have it all. Then I lost it all. Now I have most of it back, but I will never be the same. And for that, I am eternally grateful. – PGB

It’s been a slow week here, but in real life it’s been a week like no other. In what began as a week that was set to be the best in a while — I was preparing to come home to Hollywood with no more travel plans in sight — suddenly turned grim when my social circle suffered a devastating loss and I had to rush home to Arizona instead. Once I finally did get back home, I was immediately faced with another tough loss that all in all has made for an emotionally draining week and a tough first week back home. Being back in your own bed doesn’t feel as good when tough times make you feel alone, but I’ve been lucky to be surrounded by a great group of friends that have reminded me how lucky I am to have developed a good handful of genuine relationships in just one year of being in LA. I’m very much looking forward to a relaxing weekend ahead in which I have every meal scheduled with long lost friends, plans to hit my much loved and missed favorite old haunts, and plenty of time outlined to work on PGB.

If there’s one thing I do believe from my Catholic upbringing, it is that everything is part of a greater plan. I tried to explain this to B the other night when he made a comment about my walking home in the dark after running to the office in the morning and leaving later in the evening than I had hoped. I told him I don’t believe in living in fear because whatever is going to happen is going to happen when it deems, but apparently Jewish faith doesn’t see it that way. I promised to take a cab next time.

Siempre habrá cosas en la vida que no podemos controlar. Todo lo que podemos hacer es deseo de las cosas que pensamos que queremos, y confiamos en que lo que se entiende que será incluso si no entendemos por qué.

[There will always be things in life we can't control. All we can do is wish for the things we think we want, and trust that what is to be is what will be, even if we do not understand why.]

Taryn: Seriously, I want to go down there and egg his house or something.

D: LOL.

Taryn: I’m being serious.

D: I know you are. That’s why I love you.

B: That valet was a dick. He was Mexican, can’t you just speak Spanish to him?

D: Wow, really? I can’t wait to go somewhere Jewish and be like, “Can’t you just speak Jewish to him?”

B: Hebrew, dork.

D: You can’t make fun of me being Mexican, only my Mexican friends can. Your people killed my people’s Christ and my mother will never forgive you for that.

B: That’s why I can’t meet your mother?

D: Yup.

Mom: Yeah, everyone is talking about going to Guisamopa for Easter but I don’t know if I want to go.

D: Why?

Mom: It’s hard to get down there during Holy Week. Everyone goes down there for the week to drink and party, it gets really crowded.

D: Wait, let me get this straight. Masses of people go to a remote part of Mexico for the holiest week of the year, to drink and party?

Mom: Right.

D: I’m sure that’s exactly how the church intended.