!!!

In honor of this Record 18 Post Blog Purge, I gotta shout out to Lindsay.  Recap: Seattle, Zag, Icelandic Volcano ruined Europe trip, dragged to filming friend.  I got to see her and her glowing (wink!) sis Megan during my Seattle trip this month.  The reason I have to mention her on this last of 18 posts today is because she is my blog cattle prod, if you will.  Every time I talk to her, I invariably have been delinquent in my updating and she ever so lovingly reminds me, "You have got to post on your blog, I think you are losing readership!"  I unwittingly then remind her that she and my mother ARE my readership, but I always appreciate the concern.

I hope this provides you with some day after Memorial Day reading at work, Linds.  Will try and keep up with that other damn blog you read.  Quelle pressure!

Just to be helpful, jump to the beginning of the 18 post string here!

In case I don't say it enough,  I am tickled by each and every one of my readers.  Especially those beyond Lindsay and my mom.  I'm always so shocked to find out that people read this silly little blog, but know that it just thrills me that you choose to waste your time keeping up with my ruckus.  Love Love Love.

EEK.

Miss Ryann is just such a love.  I miss her and her giggly cousins every single day. 

Baby, Baby, Baby oooohhh.

I was going to do this blogpost as a video, and I just couldn't stomach it.  But this here blog has many purposes, and one is to keep me honest, so I continue with the self-exposure.

The Coco in my previous post is one of my favorite people in the world.  I love just about everything about her; I trust her completely.  I have told her things that I have never since breathed out loud.  Thus, I also completely respect her opinion.

Well imagine my surprise when she tells me months ago that I simply must watch "Never Say Never".

Well what the hell is that?

Oh.  Seriously?!  I thought she had to be kidding.  I knew very little about this prepubescent heartthrob before she proclaimed his greatness.  Sometimes teenage patients of mine hang his picture up in their hospital rooms.  I know he's endorsed by Usher.  He's also teased on sketch shows.  So what?  Coco insisted that this little man is the real deal and everything from his Canadian roots to his iconic hair is perfectly lovable. 

Well, I know that the teenie bopper in me is still very much alive, and I also know Coco knows her shit so I made a mental note to watch it at some point.  Last week, I was feeling like I needed a pick me up.  So I went into the grocery store, hood over head, and snuck up to the Redbox DVD rental kiosk.  I quickly made my choice and skulked outta there fast before anyone could see what I had chosen.  I then proceeded to let the DVD sit shamefully in the bottom of my purse for days.  Finally, I put it in during one of my planned 'productivity' days, thinking it would just be on in the background while I paid my bills and mended buttons.  

Huh.  Nothing got done.  Not one thing.  I sat on my flat arse and watched the entire thing. twice, asian eyes glued to the screen.  This kid is just mad.  Talented.  It's incredible, and oh so intoxicating.  I found myself falling for him completely, and I really just want to make his dreams come true.  I have to love him even more, because he also makes me want to make my dreams come true.  I've got the fever, people.  I don't want any tylenol.  Let it burn.

Isn't it Ironic, Don't You Think?

You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you just might find, the first thug on the street.

Brave Boy.

While my life is startlingly Y-chromosome-less at this point, events like this just have to make me laugh.

While Coco was in town last month, we had just experienced and loved a show by the Head and the Heart at the Troubadour, and she was jonesing for some drive-thru nosh something bad.  The only establishment I could think of that would be open at that hour was Cali's own In-N-Out.  We pulled into one, and much to her dismay, they had closed but fifteen minutes prior.  We turned around to walk back to the car when I heard a male voice call out "Hey, I'll share my fries with you...."  I looked and there was a guy gathered with his bros sitting at a table near the door.  I laughed and continued walking, thinking he was just being funny.  We got in the car, and I continued to carry on about whatever else I was already distracted with.  I stopped talking when Coco starts laughing hysterically.  The Fry Sharer was at my car door.  Aw geez.  He looked like he was barely old enough to drive, but I didnt want to crush his spirit sooo..... ok I rolled my window down.   OK FINE, I gave him my number.  There was no way anything was happening but I wanted to encourage his audacity.  Plus, he was pretty polite about it.

So he, having just gotten his 12 year old molars, starting texting me right away.  No game.  I was just casually chatting with him, he was commenting on my name.  But THEN this came:

As for Coco , at least she got her fries.  Still winning.

Yuk it up, clowns.  They just keep comin.
Love Love Love.

Please Don't Buy That.

{photo source}

I love the grocery store.  I like to cook, I like to eat, so the grocery store is like the mother ship to me.  I wish I had all the time in the world and unlimited funds to make meals and always have my fridge stocked with whole, organic, nutritious and decadent food.  You would think that, given my passion for food, I would be my best self at the grocery store, right?  While this prediction might be accurate in some ways, I also find myself being kind of an asshole at the grocery store.

I judge people based on what foods they buy.  If a mother has a cart full of chips, soda, and cookies, I silently condemn her for setting her kids up for obesity and gluttony.  If a single person loads up on frozen dinners, I mentally accuse them of being lazy.  If a beefy guy is buying protein powder and energy bars, I bite my tongue to keep from telling him that whey protein is so much better than soy, but to make sure to buy whey protein isolate, not concentrate.  I loathe seeing anyone buy energy drinks or white bread.  My skin just crawls.  I would like to think that my annoyance stems from genuine concern for the health and well being of my fellow Americans, but really,  I probably am just nosy and judgmental.  I cant hold everyone to the standards I set for myself, and I'm sure I need to lighten up a little.  I just feel that changing my eating has changed everything about my life; I want everyone to experience the transformation!  My body is so much happier.  Shouldn't yours too?!

Read the Clean Method by Alejandro Junger and Food Rules by Michael Pollan.  Please consider, if only to avoid my evil eye when I see you touching anything with "instant" on the label.

Love Love Love.

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Updated photos of my little LA bachelorette pad.  I loooooove this little guesthouse.  It's the perfect size for me, and I love having a backyard and being tucked away from the craziness of the Hollywood area.  I am walking distance to plenty of food and fun, and I can only hear helicopters eh, three nights week.  I'll take it :)

On MTV cribs, everyone always refers to the bedroom as 'where all the magic happens'.  For this, I feel I must make it my own : This is where no magic happens.  

Well, it is pretty magical that I can lay in bed and see the TV through my door and past the kitchen.  OK, so some magic happens there. 

This is the inspiration board.  In my house in Spokane, it was hung up in my office/crazy room.  In LA, my office apparently shares a space with the loo.  It is what it is. 

Brothel che Mingni is open for boarders!  Come bask in the sun, friends. 

Love Love Love.

What I'm Good For.

As a bridesmaid, you really do have to endure endless conversations about the headache inducing parts of wedding planning.  All of that becomes worth it when this happens:

Please notice that this all happened over the course of an hour.  At 2000 (that's 8pm for the non military/hospital people)  I first watched the Billy Madison footage..... and at 2053 I had the dance choreographed, filmed, and emailed to her.  I may be designing and making the favor boxes, but I consider this my greatest asset.  I take dance seriously.  Please, look forward to the final performance.  I smell a future Youtube wedding video hit.

Love Love Love.

A Change of Heart.

 I am a self proclaimed hater of modern art.  I'm not deep enough for it; I usually don't get it and therefore think it's stupid.  However, during my trip to Seattle, I made myself go check out the Nick Cave: Meet Me At the Center of Earth exhibit at the downtown Seattle Art Museum.  I had heard rave reviews about it and had some time to kill.

Could I be maturing?  Doubt it, but I took my time getting to the exhibit on the top floor; stopping to weave through the other exhibits.  I found myself staring and appreciating the artwork.  The pieces were speaking to me, I was mesmerized by some of the things I was seeing.  It was weird.  I also felt like I was having an existential identity crisis because of this.

Nick Cave?  Crazy fascinating.  Colors, materials, movement.  Go see for yourself.

http://lookintomyowl.com/nick-cave-soundsuits.html

YouTube Deal Breaker.

If a girl cant be picky, she'll be stuck watching Youtube mediocrity.  I demand impeccable viral video taste.  The singledom continues, huzzah!

Love Love Love. 

She's out. JT is Mine.

So the real reason for my recent trip to Seattle was for the nuptials of my dear friends Carly and Jon.  Carly and I met the first day of seventh grade; we were both on the Greenacres Jr High gymnastics team.  Neither of us had any idea what we were doing there.  I was a swarthy 12 year old who was terrified of heights, she a gangly preteen with braces and butt sweat that was all too apparent in our kelly green leotards (ahem, I can say that; I don't believe she reads this blog).   Our friendship led to introductions to my dear friend Andrea, who has been mentioned here, and also to Monica, with whom I shared a class and favorite teacher with during elementary school.  Both of these girls, in addition to a slew of others we met all around this time, stood beside Carly on this rainy day as she got married.  Looking back, I like to think that I am responsible for all of those friendships.  Carly and I shared an obsession with Justin Timberlake, his obsession with the color baby blue, and spending our parents money.  She grew up into a gorgeous woman, and now we still share an ever present obsession with JT, and the perspective that life is not meant to be stagnant.  I love Carly because she is ballsy enough to take risks and isn't afraid to turn her life upside down in pursuit of passion.  She's unconventional but with impeccable taste.  Oh yeah, Jon's okay too, for an Asian. :)

The beautiful flowers pictured above are the bouquet.... that I caught.  Im usually a pretty big snot about not being subjected to the bouquet toss, big surprise.  However, Seattle makes me mushy from being around people that I love, who are in love, so I let myself get shoved out onto the dance floor for the toss.  Carly hit me in the head with it.  The photo is priceless:

Remember what I said here?  Another example, Seattle fuels amore.

UGH-may-zing

 You know how they say that the human population is getting dumber because all of the smart people are not having kids and the stupids are procreating like rabid rabbits?  I'm alarmed to say the prediction must be accurate.

Want to add to the movement?  Google Thesaurus.  Your English prof and I thank you.

Poopsie's Making Cookies!

Every so often, I ask Terry Lynn to send me a Sammy Bomb, my term for a MMS photo of whatever the little Poopsie is doing at the moment.  This is the clear winner this month.  Lordy, I love her!

Water Hoarder.

Keeping myself honest here,  this is the state of my trunk as it was a week ago.  Who IS this asshole with all of these plastic water bottles?!  Before you start the craziness about carbon foot prints, landfills and BPA, let me just tell you that I know.  Im a advocate of toxin free living, whole foods, and living your best life.  I have many many reusable water bottles, and tote them about with me all of the time.  The issue here?  I have water anxiety.  I start out my day with a full water bottle at my side, but I plow through it quickly and and am left with the debilitating inner monologue that I may dehydrate while standing in line at the post office.  So I stop by any market on my way to my next destination and purchase the biggest bottle of water I can find.  I drink, which causes me to have to pee everywhere I go, and then chuck the bottle into the back of my car, out of sight.

Why not just fill more water bottles before I leave then, you say?  Well that's just silly.  Then I'd be the crazy water girl who cant go anywhere without a gallon by her side.  Sigh.  Im working on my idiosyncrasies.

Pretty Girls, Ugly Guys.

Just once, I would like to see a girl be the reacher, and the guy be the settler.  In my selfish mind, this is the only way Andy Samberg will ever notice me.  Commence hopelessness.

She Found Bliss in the Dirty D.

(BM, MOG, me, MOB, and MOH)

(bride, MOG, me, G, and MOH)

Being a friend sometimes means going places that are disgusting.  It's an inevitability of life. Detroit is one of these places of disgust.  I'm not trying to drink that haterade, but I can think of very few things to love about that crusty city.  However, when your mutually proclaimed college soulmate falls in love and betrothes herself to a Dirty D native, you cash in your Skymiles (aw HELL no, am I actually paying!) for a ticket to the D for her bridal shower.  By the looks of these photos (ahem, evidence I was actually there), I was really suffering.  I mean, total bridesmaid martyrdom.  It helped that I became fast friends with the groom's hilariously BigFatGreekWedding-esque Lebanese family.  I knew we would get along famously when upon picking me up at the airport, Peter's dad leans back at me and asks "So Ming, you like to roll the dice?"  The high rolling weekend and the fact that I don't really remember some bits make the Dirty D finish juuuuust above Cheney, WA in my book.  In regards to the non-remembrance, Dr. Drew Pinsky needs to create another rehab show for me: 

"All Of My Friends Are Getting Married, Thus I Will Just Get Drunk".  

I think Jen Aniston might want in on that one.  On a slightly less pathetic note, Sheriann and Peter are finally getting married!  Stay tuned for the story behind these two crazy kids.  Marital Bliss kicks off June 18th.  Look for me walking down the aisle, banging my bouquet like a tambourine, waiting for the bar to open. 

Twilight Doesnt Even Know.

Friends, there are many things that I hate about myself.  As a human, I think some level of self loathing is completely healthy.  Included in this list is my inability to drive a stick shift, my tator tot toes, and my vanity.  A few weeks ago, another item was that I had never given blood.  As a health care professional, I am more than aware of the life saving benefits of blood donation.  Hell, I am registered with the National Bone Marrow registry and am ready for whenever I get that call.  Blood donation was just always somehow, a bigger deal than all of that.

Confession:  I haaaaaate getting poked.

Shut up, I know.  Yes, working in the Peds ICU requires me to poke kids every single day.  I, along with parents and others on my team, wrap kids' appendages in blankets, hold them down, and poke them with needles while they scream and cry.  It's a part of my job, and I actually admit to getting some kind of sick satisfaction out of getting a good IV in, or hitting a vein in the perfect spot to draw blood.  It's a red, sticky victory when I get a vein so well, the IV spurts blood back out as I connect the tubing and affix the tape.

You know how those who cant do, teach?  Those who cant be poked, poke others.  You should see me whenever I have to get blood drawn at the doctors.  I sweat, cry, and carry on like you wouldn't believe.  What's worse, I play the childish 'on my cue' game with the poor lab techs.  You know, this number:

"ok I'm ready.  ...no wait not yet.  o-ok now.  uhhh ahhh wait hang on just a second.  I wanna look.  no nevermind just go.  ahh no hang on.  ok now.  now NOW!  sharp inhale.  GAH!'

I know.  It's just retarded.  So, you all know how I like to force myself to chase my fears.  This was just another on the list.  Besides, I have been really curious to know my blood type lately, and this would be two birds with one very sharp and large-bore stone.  yeeesh.

I made an appt with the blood donation center at the hospital where I work.  My hematocrit was a surprisingly high 44 (I don't eat red meat or diary.  wtf?!) and so off I went to the chair.  I bravely bit my lip and let the nurse poke me in the arm with a 16 gauge metal straw.  SHIEST THAT HURT.  But I was okay.  I remained okay until I was almost done, and she informed me that I was to go home and lay down for the rest of the day.  What?!  Who has time for that?  I was planning on going straight to hot yoga from here, but Mama Vampire was having none of it.

"You are barely big enough to donate, you go home and SIT.  Keep that dressing on for at least six hours, you could bleed internally from that poke, we probably used too big a needle on you."

Well great.  One perk so far?  I'm an O blood type, which is a universal donor.  Lots of people are able to receive my blood.  The conclusion, my friends?  Quit being such a baby about your fears and allow adjustments.  I'm sure I'm over it now, you know, until 8 weeks is up and I get called back to donate.  Phew.

Love Love Love.

What's Goin On, Yo.

Friends!

I recognize my absence from the blogosphere has been entirely too long, but I assure you I have been brewing thoughts, scheming rants/raves, and thinking of stories to share.  I have also come up with a new element of this blog, I hope you love love love it.  I think this will be a fun way for me to work on monologue skills, reach more of you beautiful peeps, and tell you my stories in the voice that they should be heard in!

Love Love love