Laughing in the Loo.

{seen at Nordstrom loo}

I cant speak for the entire gender.....

But my 'feminine protection' comes in the form of wiles, rhetoric, a roundhouse kick, and sharp footwear.  I somehow don't think cotton filled harpoons and absorbent rafts are much in real protection.  The verbage isn't quite right.  

Just sayin.  

New Light.

My favorite time in LA: Sunrise.
Streets are blissfully empty, and you can get past the urban sprawl rather effortlessly.
No, there's no explanation to how I found myself driving Hollywood Blvd at 0545.  Use your imagination.

Run, Run After It.

No one is going to make sure your life is awesome.  So when you want to be a part of something, you gotta buckle up and chase it.

I had plans last Friday to go to Malibu and sit on the beach with Courtney, a sweet girl who was a high schooler on my Thailand trip a year ago.  She's now going to school in Malibu, and we had made plans to beach around and eat Thai food.

That would have been a lovely time, but nothing to blog about.  Sorry, Court.

Fortunately for all of us, I am still an avid follower of  The Buried Life, and stay interested in their goings and adventures, trying to always add some awesome into my life the way that they do.  On this Friday, approximately 8 minutes before I was about to leave for the 'Bu, I saw that they announced an invite to be present for the taping of an episode of the show.  Dave, the wide eyed baby brother of the gang had taken it upon himself to knock out the item of "participate in a mixed martial arts fight".  Pun intended, of course.

uh, I was so there.

I drove all the way out to Malibu, scheming up ideas to get Courtney to want to go.  I came up with this:

me: "ok Court, so here are our options.  A, we could go to the beach, have dinner, and probably frozen yogurt later.  or B, you can commit to an adventure with me.  It involves a lot of driving, packing an overnight bag, and spending the night at my apt because I'm not driving you back here after our event.  Make your decision, this is all the information I am at liberty to divulge to you."

Intrigue, yes?  She would have been an idiot and thus someone I do not associate with to not choose the adventure.
So we took off for El Monte, for an address 57 miles away and far east of LA that I had never heard of before and was an impossibly long pilgrammage from the beaches of Malibu.

It took two hours.  We left at five thirty and drove across the greater LA area on a Friday evening.

but this?  worth it.

Might I mention that Court is like a little sister to me?  Literally?  She's seventeen and the first thing we see upon arriving at the fight venue is a sign saying "If you look under 25, be prepared to show ID"  I didnt even consider her age as a factor here.  So before we left the car I gave her my best pep talk including everything I've ever known about sneaking into a bar:

"walk in like you own the place"

"don't hesitate to make eye contact"

"leave everything in the car; your story is that I just picked you up from the beach and you had no idea where we were going and have nothing with you"

"for the hail mary, offer to let them write black X's on your hands to mark you as underage."

"flirt as necessary, don't take no for an answer."

I didn't think she had it in her, but the girl just blew right by the security guards like nobody's damn business, and even waited for me while my 12 year old looking, (but actually 24!) self got carded and braceleted.  Shiest.

oh yeah, and we got kicked out of the VIP section.  twice.  Those TBL boys need to hold educational conferences to clue me in on this business.

It was sick.  Awesome night, new appreciation for MMA fighters.  Don't miss episode 8 of Season 2 on The Buried Life.  Season Premiere tomorrow night on MTV, homes.

Discovery.

Sometimes, you mess around on Google and find things like this:
 via UrbanDictionary.com


Mingtastic: a girl that is a minger, therefore very ugly but has a nice personality......


                   i.e. "Dude, that lass is so mingtastic." 

which brings the insurmountable curiosity to therefore hunt for this:

Minger:  although now more commonly used to define an extremely visually challenging appearance, the word minger originally came from scottish gaelic, meaning 'septic vagina'.  Now often used by chavs all over Britain to define anything remotely disgusting.  


The common woman would scoff and feign indifference while silently fuming, unable to contain her resentment.  Well, I refuse to be such a woman.  Therefore, I will employ my 'nice personality' and embrace this.  Hell, it's hilarious.  


SO embracing am I that I have thus changed the name of this here blog.  I have been thinking about it for a while, but hesitant because I felt like I had to have some consistency or something dumb like that.  No more, I am running with my girlish whims.  


May I introduce my same old blog with a new name?


Trip the Light Mingtastic.

of course, taken from the phrase and song 'trip the light fantastic'..... meaning to dance nimbly and lightly.  My version?  To trip the light Mingtastic is to dance like Mingni.  Wildly, flailingly, and as much as possible.

To all you Scotts, that's dance like a 'Septic Vagina'.  take it or leave it. 

Seen In SM.

Signage gone classy. J'adore!

LA first week.

Holy strip malls.

The driving here is insane, perhaps the city wide anorexia epidemic causes the poor brain function on the roads?

The sun shines, even despite the smog.

Santa Monica is supersweet. Shops, cafes, and beach oh my!

Excuse me, leathery tan old lady with impossibly altered facial structure. Could you not double-park your convertible so that two way traffic is possible again? kthx.

It's impossible to familiarize yourself with this place. The highways intersect awkwardly, the streets are haphazardly placed, and the cool pockets are hidden amongst blocks and blocks of car rental lots.

Google Maps says your trip takes 20 minutes, the reality is 90 minutes.

One day, I had frozen yogurt for lunch and dinner. It seems almost right; froyo is everywhere.

No habla espanol. es un gran problema.

The hills everyone tells me to hike are crowded with bodies and canines. I'm gonna have to get me out of LA County for some real adventure.

When I was Little(r)...

My parents seriously cramped my decor style and gave the reasoning that someday, when I owned my very own house, I could do whatever I damn well please. Well, that day has certainly come and what I please includes, but is not limited to: painting the walls obnoxious colors, hanging my bike on ceiling joists in the living room, putting tibetan prayer flags up, using a Zags flag as a window treatment, and wallpapering with a world map. I'm 24. I can live in Candyland.

Oh the Horror.

disclaimer: i am almost embarrassed to relay the account of this below instance. it's pathetic, but it's all real.

It happens somewhere, every day. The unimaginable nightmare. You head into the bathroom for a routine draining of bladder. You relieve, and lightheartedly turn around to push the flusher. Just as your fingers are about to graze the edge of the lever, a silhouette catches your eye from the abyss of the bowl. You glance down, and your stomach drops out of your butt.

It's your iphone.

In a split second you gasp, shriek, and thereafter can't speak. Without a thought in your mind, you reach into that cursed bowl, potty water and all, and fetch that blessed gadget out from its yellow drowning. You fingers scramble as you desperately work against the clock to get the liquid off of it, wiping it on your hands, clothes, nearest bathrug. Immediately you run out of the bathroom (nope, didnt wash my hands, I now realize) and announce to the room that you just dropped your iphone in the toilet. If you happen to be at Jake Foster's house in Livermore with a bunch of boys while they help him move, they will all stop and respectfully gasp. and then Aunt Terry will tell you to put your phone in a bag of rice overnight, to draw the liquid out. From then on, it's a wait-and-see game, until the fateful next morning when you garner the balls to turn it on.

In this scenario, dear iphone will loyally turn on and give the illusion of full functionality. But after some testing and pushing, you will discover that it's actually developed a seizure disorder and is now possessed by the spirit of toilet bowl gremlins. It no longer gives sound from all speakers, and it keeps mistakenly performing actions without provoke.

Sigh.

Afterword: Although i lost everything on that phone, including notes from every church service I attended while having it, pictures, and apps, the beautiful people at the Pleasanton, CA Apple store just effortlessly replaced it. I'm sure they pitied me, after I gave them the sob story of being on my way to LA, where I don't know the roads......No, they didn't ask if my phone had ever been immersed in urine. So I didn't offer the information.

Spotted.

seen in the Huckleberry's parking lot in Spokane, WA on Labor Day 2010. Imagine the shenanigans this rig has seen.....

fa La La La LA.

Amidst all of this non blogging and playing around, I must address the harsh reality of my employment situation. I'm growing weary of my occupation. I feel like being trapped inside for 12 hours a day is becoming cruel and unusual. Yes, I'm being dramatic, but hey... we're here on my terms.

I'm starting to think about career alternatives and options for my second quarter life crisis.(the first being three years ago when I realized I was fat, of course). I have some thoughts brewing, but sharing those is for later.

In the meantime, I have resolved to appreciate this occupation I chose at the sage age of..... 15, and try to set myself up for success in fun factor assignments.

In lieu of this, I exasperated myself and all of the lovely people who work to get me employed every three months. I was fussy. I refused to consider night shift (it makes me bonkers!) or assignments located in places without a major airport.

that makes for some slim pickins, folks.

I had just about decided to run away with the circus or be a street tambouriner when I was submitted for jobs in LA, Palo Alto, San Diego, and New York, all within 12 hours.

LA called first. I made it through the gut wrenchingly intense interview (kid found drowning in pond. what do you do--GO!), and was offered a contract.

So here I am. Nestled in a hotel room in Hollyweird, waiting for my apartment in Fabulosity, CA (my recruiter promised me this...) to open up.

LA is. sunny. smoggy. crowded. strip mall-y. corny. touristy. foodie. hipster. vast. urban. varying. full of possibilities.

stay tuned, all. beyond the brown clouds there is an air of adventure here, I can feel it.

Love Love Love.