Trip the Light Mingtastic: May 2012

Loo Lingo

Man, are people getting so stupid that we know need instructions in the restroom? Doesn't this seem like basic potty training information? Do we really need refreshers?

My friends are so good to me. Darling Lindsay (aka my blog cattle prod), has always been such a supporter of my butterfly-chasing hare brained ideas. She gave up her birthday and last day of LA vacation a year ago to tag along to a pilot shoot. She reads this blog and is always on schedule with her regular, yet gentle nudges to update. She politely tells me I'm hilarious. So when I started rolling the idea of going to Seattle to drop Marsha off sometime this month, her response was: "YOU MUST COME DURING THE SECOND THURSDAY OF THE MONTH AND DO STAND UP AT KONA."

Well, okay.

{Comedy Darlings. Photo credit: Lauren Opstad!}

She and her friend Lauren are basically beneficiaries of this little local comedy night, held in the back of a Hawaiian BBQ restaurant. They, along with a friend organize local comics to perform once a month. It's low-key. It's casual. Sometimes, their group of friends are the only people in there. Well not this night! My darling friends Meg, Frank, Monica and newlyweds Alison and Marc came out to witness the spectacle. How tickled was I. Eek.
So there ya have it, Linds. You cattle prod my blog and now my stand up practice. Man oh man do I owe you for the acting career I don't even have yet.

Is this love? I think so! Might you enjoy a uploaded video of the new things I am complaining about lately?

{Disclaimer: for those of you know me, please remember that this is an act. Standup comedy is really just an overwhelmingly narcissistic monologue. Some, or all of it, may be completely made up. The idea is to be funny, not always truthful. Also, sometimes I swear. Yeah, the jig is up.}

What Match wont Catch.

In related news, I feel I must address the topic of online dating. In this day and age, we turn to the internet for just about everything. I mean, really. I carry out so much of my life online that I'm sure many of you expect this habit to extend to love and intersex relations as well, right?

WRONG.

I cannot date online.

The way I see it:

Online dating is essentially taking a human phenomenon that is inherently meant to be very, very, sexy..... and taking ALL OF THE SEXY OUT OF IT.

There is nothing coy about laying all your cards out for the world to see, and declaring yourself 'open season'. I liken it to digitally ringing your dinner bell to summon all the cowboys to "COME AND GET IT!". Groan. I just can't stomach it.

About me: I am horrendously awkward in any and all romantic situations. While I am apt to maintain a charismatic conversation with just about anyone, as soon as it turns any kind of romantic, I desire to hide my face and run to my car.

Don't compliment me. It makes me feel weird. In my house, 'pretty' was not celebrated. There's no merit in attractiveness, and the culture at the Sun household followed suit. So, even now, the easiest way to make me shut up and lose speaking ability is to say something sweet. I'd rather you insult me. Seriously. That, I can work with.

So with online dating, it's all awkward conversing and blatant agenda. You are already declaring yourself as 'interested' with the first correspondence. Yeuck. Part of the frustration and excitement of dating is the initial unknowns. Is he single? Into it? In a band? These are all things I would like to hear from you, not from reading your carefully typed-out profile. Plus, there are so many factors that can't expressed via website. I need to know if you talk with your hands, what your laugh sounds like, and if you're an interrupter. (like me).

I am constantly being harassed to try it; apparently being a nomadic soul and an extrovert guarantees excel in online dating. What-EVER. I do not desire to subject myself to any series of half-blind dates (see Blind Date Policy) with people who may seem statistically compatible with me. I have had numerous friends who are apparently bigger people than I, and have treaded the waters of this Gen-Y trend. Some have met the love of their lives, while others are still wading in the mess. I can't definitively declare it good or bad; I just know I'll have nothing to do with it. My dinner bell will remain unrung, even if the cows never come home.

Not a Drop in the Bucket.

{don't let the festive apparel fool you; this girl can be a real B*^@#}

Here's the thing.

As much as I subject you all to the pathetic details of my dating woes, I must report to you that the stories chronicled here aren't even a drop in the bucket. I still feel weird telling personal stories on the inter-web, and still have enough self consciousness to think before posting for all to see.

So you don't even know the half of it. My dating life is really just gross. It seems that all I encounter is unavailable, undesirable, or unattainable. This, in combination with my rampant intimacy issues has resulted in a somewhat (totally) begrudged 26 year old whom has never carried on with a fella for longer than a few months. I don't know, it feels weird to me, too.

I have, however, carried out a string of slinky affairs. I know, color you shocked. Yes, this single girl admittedly does enjoy occasional attention from the male species. Rather, holds herself (to herself) so tightly 345 days of the year, that the other 20 days is spent in explosive bursts of questionable energy. Too much?

Well as skilled as I have gotten in ignoring the consequences of my seasonal poor decision making, I have also gotten to a point where I have become quite disillusioned with the nonsense. I don't want to be the girl guys cheat on their girlfriends with anymore. It's not cute to take advantage of people and use them as playthings. You know what? Men have feelings, too. I KNOW, I WAS ALSO SHOCKED.

You know, I really don't accept mediocre in any other arena in my life, but somehow I have settled for the life of ordinary slut when it comes to love. Ironic, no?
So, I guess I'll just cinch that belt in a liiiiittle tighter, and wait for something Exceptional to cross my path.

Wrong Asian.

{photo: ABC.com}

I love Modern Family. It's hilarious. But guys, don't we really think that that show has a Ming-sized gap? Aren't I what's missing from the scenario?? Thankfully for all of us, I have come up with the perfect solution to fill such a void.

The Way I See It:

So Cam and Mitchell hire a Vietnamese nanny for Lily so she doesn't lose touch with her Asian roots. You know, it's very important for her to stay connected to her culture. Angelina Jolie does it with her kids.

They go through interview after interview of terrible Asian nanny applicants. One they can't understand because of her horrendous accent. Another threatens to beat Lily if she doesn't play the violin. Yet another believes she is only there to teach her multiplications tables. Finally, they find the perfectly balanced Asian nanny. She was born overseas, but raised in the US. She knows how to cook Asian food, but also sings Sesame Street songs. She speaks her native tongue to her parents but has no accent in English. Unbeknownst to them, their perfect nanny one is actually Chinese. In their defense, they did see so many applicants and they all look the same! Plus nowadays, you cant just ASK someone what race they are! Insensitive!

Lily and they love her, and she becomes another member of the family. They play Asian dress up, Nanny teaches her how to use chopsticks. The whole gang starts learning...Chinese phrases.

{photo source}

Big reveal that she's not Vietnamese (which I suppose I can leave up to the Emmy-award winning writers over there at ABC)....Cam and Mitchell are mortified but can't fire her for being the wrong kind of Asian?! I mean seriously, what will the gay-parent community say! Gay parents can't discriminate against race, can they?! Disaster!

(Cut to Nanny via single camera interview)

She knew she was the wrong kind of Asian all along. But she needed the job to fund her hip hop dancer dreams, and the Chinese are taking over the world anyway. So really, she's doing them a favor. Plus, like her mother says, all Asians are basically Chinese. (in Asian accent): "Like-uh figh sousand yeuh hees-tori". (five thousand year history)

Umm, will someone pass this idea gold-mine to whomever they know at ABC, please? I will be awaiting the call from the head writers. I would like to be hired as actor AND writer, ala Mindy Kaling. Please and thank you.

Life High on the Highway.

Don't you just love road-trips? With my recent car swapping activities, I was given the task of transporting Marsha back up to the PNW for pickup by my father, whom she will now serve.

Did you know it's 1,135 miles from LA to Seattle? Last week, I made the 18 hour drive up the Best Coast. It was delightful. I realize that, to most, the very thought of spending an entire day would conjure thoughts of suicide. But you've never road-tripped with me!

Road-tripping with Mingni:

I listen to horrible music while road-tripping. Seriously. It's a nonstop spin of country, Celine Dion, and any other 90s pop I dig out of my CD collection prior to departure. I bellow Spice Girls and wail along to Hootie and the Blowfish the entire way.

I don't stop for food. Fast food is gross and I don't get hungry while road-tripping. Weird, eh? I just pack snacks and stay high on coffee. You know, healthy-like.

You can keep your fancy GPS. This girl was trained for the highway on a Road Atlas, and that's just how I like it. I love propping that huge spiral bound book on the steering wheel and doing all of the distance calculations by mile marker. I love tracing the state highways I pass to see where they lead. I like knowing the elevations of the mountains that I drive past.

I like driving alone. The gross, selfish human in me likes not having to be concerned with anyone else's agenda but my own. I pee when I WANT TO. I play whatever disgusting music I want to sing LOUDLY to. I make phone calls. I talk out loud to myself. I giggle as I try to recite poetry I memorized in high school (I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea.....)

I do some heavy thinking. There is something very satisfying about driving alone, over long distances. The progression is very apparent, and you're very aware of milestones and your accomplishments. I make short term goals to make it to certain spots in a certain amount of time. I do lots of mental math. I recall specific stopping points that I have driven past previously, and feel pride in remembering exit numbers and town names.

I get reflective. Prior to this trip, every long drive I have done has been a runaway of sorts for me. It's quite difficult to describe; the feeling of packing up and leaving a place entirely with the anticipation of starting anew somewhere foreign and far away. On these long drives between assignments, it was inevitable for me to think back on that place, the events and people I was leaving behind. I've become quite addicted to that feeling. Isn't there something so powerful about being the One who leaves, who scampers off in search of something new and (probably) better? It's my favorite thing. Since I have been in LA for so long now and have no plans for leaving at this moment, I have missed these runaways!

OK, so I just read back all of that and it's totally for the best that I do all of this alone. Otherwise you all would be pushed over the Mingni-limit and discontinue your associations. Be thankful I get all of that nonsense done without accompaniment.

Marsha E. Mallow

Just like so many who venture to this town, Marsha came to LA, but had to leave. The reason? Morbid obesity. See, LA doesn't take kindly to the portly. In order to thrive here, you must be svelte and slim, at your optimum always. Marsha didn't fit in the spaces required of her, she required too much food, and no one was impressed with her power and prowess in other arenas. So she had to go.

OK, I'm talking about my car. Marsha Mallow.

She was a graduation present when I finished college. She really has been a phenomenal car, but just didn't make sense for LA anymore. While I was running around the country, a V6 engine and AWD was requisite, Lord knows I was packing some stuff around. But here, she's just too fat! She doesn't fit in any of the parking lots, she eats through gas, and is constantly out of alignment from barreling over the speed bumps and pot holes. I was totally ready to move on, but not before an overly nostalgic blog-post about our times together. Marsha and me:

Just look at all of the places we have been! This doesn't even include all of the trips to Cashmere, Yuma, San Diego, Austin, and the like in between work assignments.

It's been a good run, Ms. Mallow.

In the name of change, I just purchased this little guy last week and we are still getting to know each other. He's a 2009 VW Rabbit, and I am thinking of naming him Buggs. Not sure yet, but one thing I do know, he has some big shoes to fill.

Surprise Me. I Dare You.

Do you ever feel like technology is taking all of the romance out of our lives? Not just in the classical boy-meets-girl sense, but in our every day goings on? Sometimes I really crave cosmic interference, which is arguably the worst thing technology has robbed us of.

Are we eradicating the chance encounter, a surprise, wondering, and random coincidence?

Where has all the serendipity gone?

Remember when we were younger.... You would be driving down the street with the radio on, poring over a recent conflict or impasse. Suddenly THAT song came on the radio and a flood of emotion and memory would pour into your being and overwhelm your state. It was definitely a sign. That silly song, playing at THAT MOMENT made you think that somehow God knew you needed to hear it.

...Nowadays, I can hear whatever song I want whenever I want, at the touch of a screen. Hearing it at that moment doesn't mean a thing; except that I have to take responsibility for my music tastes.

Remember when you would run into someone you didn't even know was in town... and end up spending a day together?

.... Nowadays, I can see where my friends have eaten, what they have seen, and what they thought about it, in live time. I know where everyone lives and when they go somewhere.

Remember when you would lay about in your backyard with friends, wondering why the sky was blue or grass was green, where the phrase "Okay" came from?

......Nowadays, as soon as a question pops into my mind, I have the ability to know the answer. Google doesn't make me think about it.

With the advent of the smartphone, comes the departure of speculation.

While I was among the first to run to the Apple store for access to the interweb at the touch of a screen, sometimes I really crave powerlessness. I forget what it's like to be at the mercy of the universe, and to live life trusting that all things even out and that kindred spirits will meet again. It seems like my iPhone keeps me connected to the all of the world, but really connected with no one. It seems like I can barely remember the last time life threw me for a real loop and all I could do was ride it out. Nowadays, I have entirely too much control.

Allen Stone wrote a great song about this generational epidemic: