While I was out this afternoon, I stopped by my favorite café on the Westside, The Spot, to get a quick pick me up after a long day. Aside from the drinks and free wi-fi, I like the Spot because the owner is friendly and always notices when I haven’t stopped by in a while. And I like being missed. I ordered my usual, a chai latté, to go.

Once back in the car, I turned on the radio and listened intently as NPR’s All Things Considered reported on Barack Obama winning the North Carolina primary. I smiled and hoped that he’d have a good showing in Indiana.

A few minutes later, I was in downtown Culver City. Traffic slowed down because of the farmer’s market on Main Street. I briefly thought about shopping for fruit and veggies there, but opted against it because I was still wearing my yet-to-be broken in brown flats. I drove on to the next block where I parked at Trader Joe’s.

While shopping in Trader Joe’s for organic strawberries, tomatoes, carrots, bananas and other necessities I listened to a podcast of one of my favorite episodes of This American Life on my iPod. I’ve listened to the What I Learned from Television episode at least four times. Twice this week.

I left Trader Joe’s with two brown paper bags (I always forget my canvas tote when I go grocery shopping) full of groceries and headed home.

When I got home, I turned on my trusty MacBook. I checked my email and sent out announcements about the mujer issue of Puro Pedo Magazine.

What does this say about me?

I tend to develop crushes rather easily.

But all crushes are not equal. There’s the superficial crush, the mini-crush and full-blown crush.

98% of my crushes fall in to the superficial category. I decide I have a crush on him because I like his hair, shoes, eyes or smile. It’s surface level. Of course, some superficial crushes are not surface level, but they’re equally fleeting. Those are the intellectual crushes, a subset of the superficial crush category. I admire the words he uses, the ideas he states so eloquently, or his artistic or musical talents. Of course, these can be combined. He can have a great smile, be brilliant and have great taste in music and films.

But those all go away quickly and I’m left with a cool guy friend. Well, most superficial crushes go away.

The rest — 2% mind you — stay on as mini-crushes (also known as baby crushes). Mini crushes suck.

You know that scene in Clueless where Cher realizes she likes Josh? She’s terribly awkward and self-conscious? Well, that’s what my interactions with a mini-crush are like.

I like a mini-crush for the reasons listed above with the superficial crushes. The difference is that the mini-crush actually lasts longer. I try my best to keep a mini-crush from evolving into a full-blow crush. I do this mainly by trying to ignore all of my mini-crushes cool qualities. I even add some negatives in to the mix, if I can find them. The best crush diversion tactic is inaction. Taking any sort of action is a bad idea.

Of course… somewhere along the line, a mini-crush survives. I see past the negatives and the bad ideas. The mini-crush evolves to a full-blown crush.

This last type is rare, and it’s even worse than the mini-crush ’cause that’s when I forget about logic and do something crazy. You know, like actually admit how I feel.

On the flight to Dallas, I took advantage of my free drink tickets and ordered a beer. The flight attendant, a young black woman, asked for my ID.

I had it ready. I’m carded so often, that it’s normal for me to show my ID whenever I order alcohol. She looked for the year. 1980. That puts me well over 21.

“You look like you’re 10 years old,” she exclaimed in a surprised yet fake tone.

I didn’t say anything and took my ID back.

I know I look young. I hear that all the time. However, most times people simply say “you look younger” and leave it at that. That’s fine. However telling me I look like a ten year old — even if you are exaggerating for effect — is simply rude. It’s like telling someone, “wow, you look really tired today.” Even if it’s true, the person on the other end of that comment is gonna think, “wow, I guess I look like shit today.”

Here’s my advice: next time you meet one of us deceptively young looking people, feel free to express that you’re surprised about our actual age. Do not tell us we look like we’ve yet to hit puberty. After all, some of us probably already have a complex about looking young, not being taken seriously at work or having our competence questioned due to our youthful visage.

A few months ago a friend pointed out something that I had yet to notice.

I have a type.

Yes, type as in a set of characteristics I’m commonly attracted to in men.

He started listing the characteristics. Physically, they were all a little below average height (but still taller than me), had darker skin and had goatees. He didn’t even bring up the non-physical attributes, but if he had, they would’ve provided additional evidence for his thesis.

I tried to argue.

I don’t think I have a type. I just like Chicanos, and lots of them are not that tall, morenos and have goatees.

Oh well.

Rescued from the drafts that never go anywhere pile:

June 2007

I want to go on a date. I don’t want to write this monster paper on my research project. Though, I gotta admit that analyzing the data and coming up with themes was pretty exciting and fun. Yes. I’m a nerd.

But back to that date thing. I want to go on one.

It’s been a while.

Back to work.

Present

I went on a date. Actually, I went on several dates. We went to a comedy club to watch several Latino comics, enjoyed a concert at the beach, went dancing, saw the Dodgers lose (too bad), enjoyed another concert at the Hollywood Bowl, and did the whole dinner+movie thing a couple of times (we ate that Cancún roll one one of those dates, yum!).

One thing certainly has not changed since June. I’m still avoiding work. In this case it’s a report on UC admissions policy for work.

At least one thing changed. Back to work.

Sometimes I struggle to keep my angry woman of color attitude in check. It was at its strongest when I was younger, probably when I was about 20 or 21. That was at the height of my involvement in MEChA and in student government. I saw an injustice and evidence of racism everywhere I looked. I changed sometime after I started graduate school and was in a very welcoming and supportive educational program.

Three years in to my graduate program, I still see injustices. There are many things that make me angry, but I think about them differently. My first instinct is still to react the way I did when I was 21. But now, I try to wrap my head around my opponent’s point of view. For instance, I hate the fact that our fees (tuition) keep increasing, but I understand the point of view of administrators and the regents who favor the decisions.

But every once in a while, like today, that 21 year old comes out. To be honest, I don’t even struggle too much to keep the attitude in check. I like it. I can’t just be silent when I hear something that is completely wrong and misguided in regard to something I care deeply about (e.g., fighting for increased ethnic diversity at the University of California).

And you know what? I think it’s kinda fun to bring out that 21 year old, with her big mouth, big attitude and big ideas.

The first time I heard “you look like America Ferrera” was after I saw Real Women Have Curves at a screening on campus. That was in 2002. I shrugged it off. I even shrugged it off a few weeks later we my mom, sister and I went to see the same film and we ran into my brother’s friend, Enrique.

Again, I heard, “I was watching the movie and kept thinking, she looks like Cindy.”

I just laughed, not quite seeing the resemblance. I mean, I don’t even see how my own sister and I resemble each other too much.

Five years later, I still get the comments. A few weeks ago, Jeff asked me “has anyone ever told you, you look like America Ferrera??”

I said yeah. It’s quite the compliment whether she looks like this or like this. And yes, I do love Ugly Betty.