Dear Mindy Kaling: I Am So Sorry.

This is what I look like when I have had 2.5 hours of sleep and am swimming in instant regret.

You know that feeling when you wait at least a total of six hours in one day for the opportunity to meet Mindy Kaling at her new book signing, and then you act like a complete dazed idiot because you’re running on 2.5 hours of sleep? I do.

Earlier this week, my friend and I planned on going to Mindy’s book signing at the The Grove’s Barnes and Noble. I had already bought Mindy’s new book, Why Not Me, on Amazon because I’m a Prime addict and because I was so excited to read it! I didn’t read it. Then Barnes and Noble was all like “YOU SHALL NOT MEET MINDY UNLESS YOU’VE GOT B&N BOOK PURCHASING PROOF REALNESS!” And I was like FUCK. Okay. So we planned on getting to B&N at 7:15 a.m. to try to buy another copy of her book in order to get wristbands at 9:00 a.m., since you needed a wristband to go to this signing. I immediately said to myself, “I’ve lived through Comic-Con three times already–easy peasy danycat deezy.”

Rewind to earlier this week: my boyfriend hits his head on a frozen-food section door. And the day before what I’m now referring to as “SHUT UP, MELANIE” Day, it’s not improving. We head over to the ER and stay there ’til around 2:30 in the morning and he’s cured with the help of a little friend named Tylenol.

We get back to the apt and I’m like “Why, life?!” I had to wake up at 5:45a to make sure I was prepped for a 7:00 a.m. standing session. My friend, who LOVES Mindy ’til thy kingdom come and is much more deserving to meet Mindy than I, waited with me from 7:15 a.m. to around 10:00 a.m. or so until we finally were able to get the book and wristband.

The line was so very painfully long even by 7:00a. I overheard a guard at The Grove saying there were around 400 people already by 9:00 a.m. Crazy!

The people after us. I apologize for this horrendous photo, but if you squint a little bit, you can see tiny ant people waiting all the way back there on 3rd.

Saying that I felt like a zombie when I finally got to work is an understatement. I was so tired I don’t even remember what happened while at my desk. Then we came back to B&N around 6:00 p.m. and waited again for the Q&A with Tracey Wigfield and Mindy.

Tracey Wigfield and Mindy Kaling. A POWER duo.

Mindy KILLED it. Not only did she give advice on working hard for your success and earning the confidence to be a fucking boss, but she also touched on how women friendships are the best. And how to attract mentors. And how wedding cake face-smooshing is the worst. It was amazing. Then my yawning started.

My friend and I waited for another hour and a half or so while Mindy started signing books–chatting about what we were going to say to Mindy, how hungry we were, Yoga Puppies Calendar, how sleepy we were, etc. I was so excited and happy for my friend who was about to finally meet her hero, that I didn’t even think about how fucking amazing it was that I was about to come face-to-face with a woman who has worked her ass off to help pave the way for more Asians in the entertainment industry. She’s a showrunner for god’s sake. And after all the Barnes and Noble employees telling me to move forward, step up, step to the right, and other organized directions, I was finally here, the final tipping point, where I had to step onto the stage Mindy sat. I was one person away. I froze.

Things I had went over in my head for 3 hours that I planned on possibly saying:

“Ms. Kaling, I don’t mean to be fresh, but I fucking love your writing.”

“Does your mouth hurt? You don’t have to smile for my pic!”

“Are you a cat or a dog person?!”

Things I could’ve said:

ANYTHING ELSE.

What I actually said:

Mindy: [in really energetic voice] Hi! How are you?

Mel: Hi! I’m good. How are you?

Mindy: Good!

Mel: [silence.] Um, you’re a great role model. To, well, obviously all of us. [I don’t even think I was looking at her when I was saying this. I then moved my hand in a Vanna-White swoop toward the rest of the people in the store.]

Mindy: Thanks!

[snaps pic with her]

Mel: Thanks!

Mindy: It was nice meeting you!

Mel: [doesn’t answer, walks off in silence and never looks back]

Okay, I’m not 100% sure that was the exchange verbatim, but it was pretty damn close.

I’m sorry, Mindy. I’m sorry that I didn’t even call you MY role model, just A role model. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it was nice to meet you. I was so ridiculously and weirdly nervous and unrealistically intimidated that I vomited meaningless words all over you. It was nice to meet you, too. It was nice to meet you, too.

All in all I can say without a doubt that I have a higher respect for Mindy, and less respect for myself.

–M

Travel

26 years.

Alas, I’m 26. I can’t believe it’s only been 5 years since I was able to legally go up to a bartender and ask for the cheapest drink in the house. Oh how times have not really changed.

This year I was so excited to spend my birthday with my sister and cousins at “The Happiest Place on Earth.” It was our second time participating in Disneyland’s Family 5K! We walked to support The Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation and Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.

If you’ve never done a RunDisney event, you should definitely look into it. I’m not a runner, but I do love Disney. (I’m okay with admitting that I’m biased.) Picture yourself speed-walking throughout the empty running rides of California Adventure and Disneyland parks around an hour before sunrise, weaving in and out of lines of adults who are actually running, and little kids who are in better physical shape then you will ever be. And that’s exactly what it feels like. I love it. Hopefully I can run/speed-walk at next year’s Disney Wine and Dine run. There’s nothing like vomiting up fresh Pinot Noir!

The race started at 5:30 a.m. Still dark outside.

On your mark, get set, cosplay Disney characters!

Apologies for the blurriness, but this chick walked the whole 5K wearing a Cinderella gown (a la the new and excellent live-action Cinderella) and heels. She’s my hero.

Radiator Springs before sunrise.

Diamonds, diamonds, diamonds.

Malicifent told us to find Aurora. We did (not).

Empty cups. So cool.

This random lady showed up at different parts of the race. She’s amazing.

Happily ever after.

My beautiful bib.

I had such a fantastic birthday, I can’t even fathom how I deserved any of it. It was as if the shittiness of last year conglomerated into one big mass that dissipated into a really fucking great time. Here are highlights:

1. I took my sister to La Descarga in Los Angeles. This Cuban bar is one of my favorite bars/speakeasys in Los Angeles because you enter through a wardrobe. Every time I walk through, I pretend that Mr. Tumnus will receive me and that the White Witch will give me her Turkish Delight recipe. It’s fantastic. Also, Wednesday night is apparently Salsa Night, so it feels like you’re in a remake of “Dirty Dancing: Havan Nights.” PS the drinks are dangerously tasty.

2. The boyfriend and I threw a little bash in honor of us both turning a year older (our birthdays are 4 days apart). The intent was to play board games. The result was a hot lovely mess filled with Two Rooms and Boom, Heads-Up, jamming on my guitar and keyboard, and eating amazing YASS QUEEN brownies while wearing my new Sailor Moon backpack. And I heart my friends for that.

My friend Barb made us these Broad City brownies. Yass Queen!

3. Ben and I went to Long Beach to have a little getaway from Los Angeles. It’s not that far away from our apartment, but it’s far enough that we can call it “a little getaway.” Kind of. Anyway, we ordered Chili’s pick-up and watched “The Muppets 2” (our first time watching it!), “Die Hard” (my first time watching it!), and “22 Jump Street” (our first time watching it!). A little R&R goes a long way.

View from our room. Not too shabby.

This art was in our room. Cubism?

4. On my actual birthday, we went to the Rainforest Cafe in Downtown Disney. It was around 9:30 p.m. or so at night and places on Disney property surprisingly close really, really early. But I didn’t mind the 15-minute intervals of fake rainforest thundering, animatronic gorillas, and overpriced cocktails. This Rainforest Cafe reminded me of Orlando and its equally shitty Rainforest Cafe that I know and love. I had steak and shrimp that wasn’t very good, the service was slow as molasses, and our waiter seemed to not know what deodorant was, but I loved it all the same.

5. My cousins gave me a plush BB-8–the cutest little thing after Dany cat girl. I love him and he makes noises!

BB-8 watching the sunset from Newport Beach.

6. Two parks, one day. I’m not a huge fan of cramming two Disney Parks into one day, but staying on Disney property helped in a few ways. Did you know there’s a SPECIAL monorail only available to Disney Hotel guests that goes from inside Downtown Disney to Tomorrowland? Yeah, I had no idea either. And when we boarded the monorail, I knew exactly how Charlie felt when he found his golden fucking ticket and it was wonderful. We shed at least 20 minutes of wait time going on what I now call Disneyland’s Blessing to Baby Jesus.

Disney with Pascua cousins!

They had to postpone Thunder Mountain for a few minutes because this little guy was blocking the track. What a quack.

The view from Mickey’s Fun Wheel. Because of its constant back and forth, I almost vomited on all of California Adventure.

At Anna and Elsa’s Boutique with my sis Row and cousin Didi. Frozen 4 ever.

7. Within 12 hours we rode 16 rides covering both parks. My cousin calculated that we walked a total of around 15 miles throughout the whole day! My MyFitnessPal was congratulating me as if I actually ran the 5K!

8. My cousins and I played a version of The Game of Things into the wee hours of the morning. God, I love my family and I love The Game of Things. I lost my voice for a few days from laughing so hard.

9. I was able to eat a Filipino meal with all the fixings while with my cousins. I really missed eating Filipino food, and I really missed being around Filipinos conversing in Tagalog and me having no clue as to what they’re even saying. It was like my childhood all over again!

Tanola, pansit, lumpia, Filipino barbecue, and lots of other yummy stuff.

I’m hoping my birthday celebrations are a sneak peek at what’s to come for my 26th year of existence. Here’s to it not being complete shit so far!

Ruminations

I’m back.

I haven’t posted in almost a year, for reasons here and there. I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to write down the many floating events in my life in Los Angeles or I’ll forget everything that’s happening all at once.

So stay tuned for what’s to come. (PS I really need a new laptop–I’m still on the janky ASUS from my sophomore year of college. Ugh.)

–M

TV/Movies

“Scandal” is Crack in A Valentino Suit

Scandal Season 4 Olivia Pope

Seriously, have you watched “Scandal”? I’m late to the party, but I’m handling it.

I’m proud/embarrassed to reveal that my boyfriend and I started and finished all three seasons of “Scandal” in one month. ONE MONTH. That’s a whole lot of shouting, gasps, wine gulping, finger-pointing, and tears. Lots and lots of tears. And blowing of my nose. Yes, I totally cried when you-know-who bites the dust (like half of the cast!). Noooooooo.

Oh Shonda, my Shonda. I would like to send all 14 writers in your writer’s room (yes I did just look at the list of “Scandal” writers on Wikipedia) a gift basket full of home-baked cookies and my dignity.

SEASON 4 started oh-so LIV-idly. I won’t get into any spoilers, but someone may be dead, there are scenes inside the White House, there’s mention of a senator, and there are one or two or three heated exchanges. Sounds about right.

Also, Portia de Saucy’s in this season. I’m so excited she’s joined the cast. After “Better Off Ted” and “Arrested Development” season 4, my mind was taking on a 1920’s paparazzi man’s voice saying, “Portia! Portia! Over here, Portia! Where are you?!” And I’m glad she’s back on the silver screen and can’t wait to see a shouting match between her and Olivia. Shit will go down.

In related news, have you guys read up on the real-life inspiration for Olivia Pope? Judy Smith is the real force to be reckoned with.

What do you think about “Scandal”? Or the new season? Let me know in a comment.

Ruminations

2014: the year of enlightening shit

I’ve done a crap job writing for myself and writing in this blog this past year. But I’ve had a few personal setbacks that have stunted my creativity. 2014 has probably been one of the most difficult years of my entirety and on so many different levels. Sifting through it has been like trudging through snow, and not the powdery, light kind, but the kind that swallows you like a storm and absolutely freezes your face off. Which is okay, because where there are hardships, there’s learning, right? Right. I’m not insightful, usually ever, but I do have the ability to pass on a few insightful words from others that have crossed my path these past handful of months:

1. This video:

2. In passing, I heard a guy chat about how he read this Tibetan quote about acceptance and letting go at the same time. It’s something along the lines of “Powerless is the kingdom ruler of prolific impossibilities.” Meaning: don’t try to control things that you have no control over. You’ll stress yourself excessively and to no end. Be in charge of what you actually have control of (yourself, your decisions, your actions) and no more. It’s like the Serenity Prayer says, have “the wisdom to know the difference.”

3. My boyfriend passed this read onto me. It’s advice on seeking the “perfect job.” If you’re feeling stuck in a rut and can’t stop complaining about your current situation, I suggest you read this entire letter. My favorite part: “And most of all, stop worrying about your happiness. Happiness does not come from a job. It comes from knowing what you truly value, and behaving in a way that’s consistent with those beliefs.”

There are more little tidbits that I’ve gathered as well, but will save them for another post.

Now I’ll leave you with T. Swift’s new song that’s been stuck in my head this past week and is oh-so damn catchy. Once you strip down the pop beats and somewhat terrible lyrics, you’ve got a good message:

Books

10 Months Until I Can “Live” Again.

I have a hole in my heart. “The Mountain”-sized hole. And only plots of vengeance, power hungry mongrels, and long soliloquies can fill it. Only 10 more months until Game of Thrones comes back!

I made a bet with my boyfriend, that I could read all of five books from the A Song of Fire and Ice series. If I do read all five books (and actually read them–audio books do not count), then he owes me $150. And vice-versa. Right now I’m reading The Cuckoo’s Calling, so hoping to start the series up soon. The bet stemmed from my inability to wait any longer to find out what happens next in Westeros. Plus, it’s super hard to abstain from spoilers–they’re EVERYWHERE. In the news, on Twitter, on a Game of Thrones wiki page that I accidentally clicked on. Ugh.

Dany’s excited for me to read the series. Her name’s Daenerys after all.

To mend my broken TV heart, I’m pumped to watch:

The rest of Orphan Black season 2. This season has been crazy. CRAZY.
Orange Is the New Black season 2. It’s also hard to un-hear people talking about this. The other day, a few friends started to chat about the new season, and I subsequently started to walk away, plug my ears, and yell “LALALALALA.” I love you, Crazy Eyes. PS You can sometimes hear me say “Orphan is the New Black,” out of confusion and also because I’m unknowingly tapping into this show’s badass, mashup potential.
The Leftovers. The bf hinted at what the plot’s like, but I love going into HBO shows blindly. I’m hoping this show won’t fuck with my brain. I’ve had troubling nightmares after watching Bates Motel and True Detective, and sometimes during my Breaking Bad binges. Not sure how much more I can handle. (Actually, I can probably handle more, I’m so totally pumped to watch The Wire at some point.)
(Catch-up) Parks and Rec. I know what happens in the finale. But I still feel like I should watch the rest of the season. Parks has drilled a nugget of fandom in me, which I once had in The Office, but the latter didn’t know how to sustain itself. But geez, I’m hoping the show wraps itself up already.
(Catch-up) Revenge. Bf and I started this a year or two ago. Haven’t made it past season one, but hoping to do that at some point. Priorities, priorities, and this is not a priority.
(Catch-up) Smallville. Slowly but surely working through all 10 seasons. I used to love this show, but dropped off after season 5 or so. Blah.

So, as you can see . . . I have no life and my eye sockets are melting. Thank you, TV.

Ruminations

Restless Leg Syndrome of the Mind

I tend to get into these fluctuating fits of needing to just write out my thoughts to reorganize my thought process and rejuvenate my brain. Much like word vomiting so that my mind can eat healthy once again.

I’m reading this book called Catch as Cat Can: A Mrs. Murphy Mystery. It’s the first in its series. It’s not very good, and I do regret starting to read it. I actually bought it on a whim, but mostly because I thought the cat cutout in foil on the cover was pretty cute. Woe is I. Maybe one day I’ll be a cat fiction writer too, and just tell stories through Dany cat girl baby bitch (that’s her longer nickname). Are you okay with that? Dany Nancy Hardy Encyclopedia Holmes = purring protagonist. What a win.

I finally saw Ingrid Michaelson in concert last week. She used to be somewhat of a music idol to me, alongside the other angsty girl singer songwriters who felt the same amount of sadness and anger and ferociousness as I did when I was seventeen through twenty. Introspection matched with catchy pop beats and smooth acoustic chords. I still love it. Ingrid Michaelson, Meiko, Kate Nash, Sara Bareilles, A Fine Frenzy. I know I’m missing a bunch more, but those were my sisters, yo. I covered their songs on piano and guitar for drunken college students who happened to stumble around the dorm-room halls at 2 a.m. on Saturday nights. I was a second-hand star for a few minutes.

“Amazing Race” is the only reality show I’ll ever go on. I used to be willing to go on “The Real World” if I somehow stumbled into that opportunity, but alas I’m too old to scream drunk nothings into a camera. I think it’s because I have travel bug impulses, as any other early-twenties youngin’ has. I would totally eat sheep intestine in New Zealand, bounce around a hut in Thailand, or wrestle a fat man in Turkey if I had the chance to. And for a million bucks? That’s just extra incentive.

I should go to bed. Not even editing this. hashtag #whatever #hashtag.

–Mel

Ruminations

“There is no phalange!!!!!!”: A phrase for life.

It’s been a long, long time since I’ve blogged for my own personal want. Well, like a little less than a year. Not because I don’t want to, I’ve just been really terrible with balancing the whole “writing for work” versus “writing for pleasure.”

Anyway, I’m about to start writing for work stuff, but thought I’d channel my thoughts to warm up my brain a bit.

I’m sitting on my couch watching the last and final episode of Friends, “The Last One.” Specifically this clip:

Two things struck me simultaneously:

1. Realizing that Jim Rash played “Nervous Male Passenger” feels like soft kittens purring around me.

2. “There is no phalange!” grants more meaning outside of a funny quip bridging a longtime, sitcom-satistfying plot point. And I didn’t recognize that ’til right now.

“This plane doesn’t even have a phalange!” Cue the actors running away in fear while the audience laughter ensues. Rachel throws her hands in the air and calls the freak out ridiculous. Why are people rushing to the exits over something non-existent? Why is their naivete taking over their rationale and submitting to the worry of worries when there are bigger things to worry about?

Folding it all into the real world though, I admit that I’ve been a bit of a “phalange”-crier myself. I’d worry about silly shit, like “OMG how the fuck will I make it to the grocery store if I don’t get gas? How am I supposed to make dinner?” Or, I’d worry like any good helicopter cat mom would, circling around my Dany girl, pondering if she’s going to become allergic to a food cause I keep feeding it to her or if she’s okay with staying in her room. I’d worry about my future plans, my future travels, my future, still-non-existent IRA. I just constantly allowed my mind to dip into anxiety for absolutely no reason.

That is, before I’ve faced real troubles, before life has shaken my body a little bit, before I understood that hardships are the hardest when they’re actually rubbing on your face like a cheese grater.

And then your simplistic thoughts are hammered down into a shallow heap on the floor. Forgettable. It’s replaced with reality.

Following the series’s finale, Nick decided to air the Friends‘s pilot episode. Lo and behold, there’s another phrase that makes a stage for itself. See if you can catch it:

Thanks, Mon. We all needed that.

Don’t submit or get caught up in the tangled “phalanges” of your life. Don’t fear the petty. Really care for, fight for, worry about what really matters.

Ruminations, Writing

Post 100.

This post is #100. Yup—one, zero, zero. With the updating track record I’ve been running with thus far, I never would’ve thought I’d reach three digits. So ring in the New Year or something. Hooray?

Let’s be frank for a second. Or fifty. I Skyped a college friend a few months ago, and after catching up on maybe half a year of life updates, we verbally tumbled into talking about the concept of trust. Trust in the cracks and crevices of not only romantic relationships, or troubled friendships, but your own self-trust. A slight disclosure: I have fickle trust issues. I mainly blamed the failures of past -ships (again, both the friend and romantical kind) for this. But something my friend told me really stuck with me. He said, “You know, the amount of trust you have isn’t just molded by others’ fuck-ups. Every time you let yourself down—when you don’t take time to work toward a goal or you put a project to the wayside—you lose trust in yourself and your abilities.”

. . . Okay, so he didn’t say it exactly like that, but that’s the gist of it. This must explain why I have a lingering feeling of disappointment in myself for not updating this blog as much as I planned. My own trust in accomplishing my personal goals deteriorated because as much as I wanted to make this a priority in my spare time, I haven’t been. Sorry, self. I will loathe you for a few more seconds.

Okay. I’m done now.

I turn 24 years old in 8 days. So that means it’s time to set the bar right. More writing and reading, less watching and browsing. Practice staying focused, and focus on what I should practice. The latter: structuring sentences that strike a chord with someone, or at the very least, with myself.

—M

Events

Star Wars Day—May the Fourth be with you!

This is of course coming a little late. But the bf won tickets to Entertainment Weekly’s CapeTown Fest showing of “Return of the Jedi”. How did he do it? His nerdiness won everyone over:

This was the first time the film has screened at the Egyptian Theatre since its premiere in 1983. Fancy that! And since it was my first time actually watching anything in that theatre—it was nothing short of amazing.

There were planned guests for the afternoon, but the supposed guest for the 2p showing, our showing, didn’t arrive. And while EW tried very, very hard to stall, no one ever came.

BUT we did get to watch a short doc buy Seth Green, called “Return of Return of the Jedi,” where comedians/nerds/the like talked about why this was their fave Star Wars flick. And lo and behold—Topher Grace was in it. How I miss my high school crush.

So we didn’t get to see special guests and we didn’t get free stuff, but I did get to watch a Star Wars movie with Adam Scott, which has gotta be the best thing to ever happen to me.

Adam Scott—blurry, and all the way to the left!

And now I shall hug this pillow to sleep. (via Saturday Morning Pancakes)

In the meantime, tell me you fave Star Wars film in a comment!

	Mel on 7 Stupid Things I’ve Hea…
	Meghan Hudak on 7 Stupid Things I’ve Hea…
	Mel on Where Have I Been These Past 8…
	Mel on Why I Marched and What Comes N…
	busyk on Why I Marched and What Comes N…

oh mel, gee . . .

The life and wandering times of Mel.

Dear Mindy Kaling: I Am So Sorry.

26 years.

I’m back.

“Scandal” is Crack in A Valentino Suit

2014: the year of enlightening shit

10 Months Until I Can “Live” Again.

Restless Leg Syndrome of the Mind

“There is no phalange!!!!!!”: A phrase for life.

Post 100.

Star Wars Day—May the Fourth be with you!

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this:

Share:

Like this: