Think More About Sex!

http://www.salon.com/2012/12/22/think_more_about_sex/

“The more closely we analyze what we consider ‘sexy,’ the more clearly we will understand that eroticism is the feeling of excitement we experience at finding another human being who shares our values and our sense of the meaning of existence.”

Sex is on my mind. CLEARLY.

Giving Thanks, 2012

Wow. So in the time that I have taken an (apparent) hiatus, Blogger has completely reconfigured their interface. Good on you, Blogger. Sometimes change is good.

As per usual, I am about a week and change late on this whole giving thanks blog post. But really, since blogging is evidently not my thang anymore, I have been feeling conflicted about putting my thanks out into the universe. Like, maybe I don't deserve for others to hear my thanks. I mean, who am I to think anyone (beyond my mother) even still takes the time to read this bitch? But then I said FUCK IT. I am so incredibly thankful this year, that even if this post get sucked into the great nothingness, is swallowed up by the deepest and darkest of black holes, fades into obscurity, at least I will have proclaimed my thanks in a very public way. And really, isn't that the best way?

I don't even know where to start. So I guess I'll start here.

I know I say this every year, but I am so damn thankful for my mother. She is a rock. She is honest and insightful and thoughtful and shrewdly observant. I am neurotic. I am an overthinker. I am frustratingly ambivalent at times. And because of these awesome character traits, she and I have had an emotionally trying year. But she always manages to say the right thing, even if I'm not ready to hear it. I am so grateful for her presence, her compassion, and her unending support of my ridiculousness. Love you, mom!

I am forever thankful for my Dad and Stepmom, two people I could not possibly respect more.

*Sidenote: Thanks, Universe, for two super awesome and open-minded parents.

I am thankful for my Weekday Mistress, Casey the Human. Even though we both made it back to these United States in one piece, we do live 1500 miles apart. It is difficult to maintain a meaningful connection over time, let alone distance, however Casey is easily the most loyal friend I know. And although we do not get the chance to bitch it out over a bus ride and shitty Taco Bell, I know she, like Shakira, is available whenever, wherever. Plus, she is still willing to watch movies with me, even after this.

I am thankful for the unexpected. When I came home last year, I was so very sad to leave my Seoul Family. In three years I had managed to amass a fantastic circle of friends and although I still maintained contacts here at home, I did not expect to find that same sense of community. In the Land of the Living people have jobs, and families, and obligations that rarely include mid-week beer pong, No-Pants Sunday, and Monday night leg massages. Living in Seoul afforded me endless amounts of frivolity, sometimes masquerading as shared experience. But shared experience is something college students bond over, not grown-ass adults. However, I was pleasantly surprised to find a group of fantastic, like-minded individuals with whom I am incredibly content to share my experiences, and sometimes a bit of frivolity.

Two words: Erica Bangerter. This woman has single-handedly pushed me to be better harder faster stronger. I first met Erica at Ladies' Craft Night. I found her passionate and opinionated and maybe a little overwhelming. It wasn't until January, when she forced me to meet her for GRE study time, that I really took a moment to get to know her. Over the course of the first four months of 2012, Erica and I met faithfully every Sunday morning and Wednesday night in preparation for the GRE. In that time I had the pleasure of making a great friend. She is irreverent. She is whip smart, compassionate, and does not suffer the fool. She has a pure heart and cares a great deal for those she loves. I am so incredibly happy to count myself among them.

Two more words: Patrick Lopez. This guy, more than any other person on Earth, just gets me. He is my partner in crime. He is kind, and smart, and funny, but more than that, he is genuine. As social beings, we meet so many different individuals, both on the internets and in real life. Many of these people serve a specific purpose, filling a void or a niche, but their presence is fleeting. Some of them endear themselves to us just long enough to pass the threshold into true and great friendship. But very rarely does someone so completely nestle themselves into our hearts, as to render them totally irreplaceable. Pat has managed to do just that. And I am so excited to see what happens next.

Here's to 2013, the Great Leap Forward. (See? I told you I could work Chairman Mao into any joke.)

It's about the journey, dumbass

Winter is, by far, my least favorite time of year. Winter usually finds me all sorts of crabby and bitchy and woe-is-me. Hence, the TOTAL lack of bloggery. But today the sun is shining, the coffee is hot, and the cobwebs have been cleared from my brain.

I have spent the majority of the past two months (read: year, but who's counting?) reflecting on my time back here in the states. Everyday I have wavered on my decision to come home. Over the course of three years, Korea provided a certain level of comfort -- work, friends, and weekend plans all presented some predictability. But Korea also provided something I never knew I needed -- a sense of accomplishment. By uprooting my life here in these United States and moving 5,000 miles from friends, family, and anything remotely familiar, I felt a sense of independence that I never felt whilst living in Boise, Idaho. In Korea it was sink or swim -- make friends or be lonely; learn to read Hangul or forever be known as the ignorant foreigner; love kimchi or starve. Living as an outsider I was forced to adapt to new situations in order to make myself more comfortable (and sometimes that was fucking hard). I had to create my community, I had to learn how to teach -- in short, I had to manipulate my surroundings to make my life better. Each time I successfully navigated a new situation, my confidence got a little boost. Over time, those boosts added up. The result was a pretty confident Mindy.

Moving back to Boise, an environment with which I felt quite familiar, rarely provided those confidence-boosting opportunities. The last year has been one big drain on my confidence -- I was drawing on my reserves with each resume sent and each interview attended, but I wasn't able to bank any more confidence. That is to say, I wasn't learning, or growing, or challenging myself in any way. It seems like a no-brainer, but as an adult, I had no idea it was up to ME to seek out those confidence-boosting opportunities. In the past, they had always somehow found me (or so it seemed). College courses, new jobs, and big moves seemed to be the natural course of life, hence I took them for granted. Lacking opportunities for growth sent me into a shame spiral of epic proportions. Seriously. Is this really what adulthood was -- work, home, bills, TV, sex, REPEAT?! If so, I was having none of it...

So here I am.

I have crawled out of my shame spiral. I have acknowledged that I am indeed my own worst enemy (not to mention critic). I have successfully navigated the self-help section of Barnes and Noble without shame! In the process I had to seriously evaluate areas of my life with which I am unhappy. (Wicked heavy shit like environment, interpersonal relationships, and career. UGH!) Goal-setting has never been my strong suit so I've had to re-learn how to set a goal, list possible ways to attain said goal, then make a plan of action. I've had to list activities that bring me happiness, from the most mundane (cleaning house), to the most challenging (learning a new skill), and how to incorporate those into my everyday life so that happiness is not just a destination, but a motherfucking journey!

But perhaps the most important lesson I've had to learn is failure is okay. No, seriously. I am so paralyzed with fear at the thought of failure, that it keeps me from ever trying new things. So I have resolved to fail, at least a little bit.

So if I fail to update this goddamn blog on a semi-regular basis, that's okay, right?

This American Life

I am so unhappy and frustrated. Something's gotta give...

Full Plate

I'm not really a joiner. I'm not on social committees. I don't volunteer my time, services, or talent at work functions. I don't offer to bake, cook, decorate, or otherwise make merriment in social settings. I like to think showing up is enough. Except when it comes to vacations. My holiday mishaps are well-documented here and here, but for some insane reason I inexplicably take the driver's seat in all matters of travel planning. (Let it be known the one vacation I didn't plan -- three weeks in Thailand and Cambodia -- was markedly hassle-free. Wake-up call? As if.)

Nearly six years ago I took a week to explore the city of Paris with three other awesome travelers. After the flight from hell with Lieutenant Dan, the No-Armed Man, I should have known this holiday was doomed from the start. But let me back up even more.

Throughout February and March of 2006, my SuperFriend Dawn and I set about planning our epic adventure. Rather than bunking at an over-priced, potentially shabby hostel, or an impersonal hotel, we decided to rent a flat for the week. We pored over maps, Lonely Planet guides, and websites  comparing Parisian arrondissements, finally deciding (arbitrarily, I'm sure) on the 10th. We picked a flat, emailed the proprietor for price, and with a small deposit, secured a two-bedroom apartment for the week. We were invincible. At this point, Dawn was preparing for graduation, so I took the helm.

I mapped our route from Charles De Gaulle to Place de la République. I knew how to buy metro tickets, where to catch the train, and how to find our flat in the maze of Parisian alleys. And in a stroke of geniosity, I offered to take everyone's cash payment for the flat. This was a coup for me, as it was a means to make my monthly credit card payment, figuring I'd just use said credit card to pay the remainder when we arrived. Smart, right?!

The universe was quietly conspiring against me in oh so many ways.

In 2006 I was very self-involved and as such will use that as an excuse for why I had no clue THIS was going on. "Loi pour l'égalité des chances" or The Equal Opportunity Law was introduced in France and was immediately met with much opposition, especially from twenty-somethings for whom it was a gigantic threat to job security. And so they took to the streets in protest as only the French can. Protests were held once in February. Then a few more in early March. By mid-March, things were really heating up with events taking place on the 16th, 18th, 21st, and 23rd. By this time the world began to take notice. By the world I mean ME.

I heard rumblings of a "Fourth Official Day of Protest", but in true youthful fashion adopted an "It does not affect me" attitude and brushed off any concerns. Fast forward through the Flight from Hell with Lieutenant Dan, the No-Armed Man. Upon landing at Charles de Gaulle I saw this:

Innocuous baggage claim sign. Except the one I saw had MY name on it, specifically asking ME to see a baggage claim rep. Fantastic. (I actually took a picture of it before I realized what it really meant: my luggage was doomed. Must have purged the pic in a fit of rage.) No worries. After an hour of waiting somewhat patiently, my luggage was found in the belly of the plane. On to the metro. 

The girls and I schlepped through the *mostly* barren airport, down to the platform, in search of the train station. We found it empty. Empty of people, empty of trains, empty. FUCK. So we searched for a bus station. And a cab stand. Basically any form of transportation that would take us the hour trip from the airport to Republique. At this point we'd been in the airport for close to three hours. We were jet-lagged, frustrated, and physically exhausted from dragging luggage to and fro. And then someone mentioned that whole protest thang. Suddenly the puzzle pieces fell into place -- the "official day of action" was today. And it called for a strike among all transportation unions. Fantastic.

Once again we waited patiently. I have no idea how long. Forever, maybe. Eventually a train did show up. Thankful for any form of transportation into the city, we took it. And because it was the only train running we were packed like sardines (excellent prep for Asia). It was slow. Each stop lasted five to ten minutes. More and more people crammed in each time the doors slid open, but eventually we reached our stop: Gare du Nord. By this time we'd been in the country for close to five hours. We were exhausted, but not yet defeated.

Upon exiting the metro we were confronted with this: 

Police in riot gear, bottle-tossing protesters, tear gas. You know, general mayhem. The streets were clogged with ambulances and police cars, protesters and newsmen. Businesses and storefronts were shuttered against the action. The inaugural baguette was apparently out of the question. Battered and exhausted but still not defeated, we trudged on. It was at this point, however, that Dawn decided she'd rather be part of the protest than go hunting for our flat. She handed off her luggage to Vivi and vowed to meet us back here in an hour.

I. COULD. HAVE. KILLED. HER.

Cold, tired, lost, scared shitless, and lacking even a modicum of French, I handed the reigns to Anji. Find our flat, I told her, and fast. Fast turned into another hour as we were forced to navigate around barricades erected to contain protesters. And then we found it:



Getting in was a whole other issue, as was dragging luggage up a five floor walk-up. Our landlord had planned to meet us with a key, but seeing as how it had taken us nearly six hours to arrive, she took off. I rang her up and within minutes she was there, ready for a cash payment. WHAT?!?

If you've made it this far, congratulations. You're probably thinking, "Mindy, you are an idiot. Do not plan anything again. Ever." And you would be right, because what happened next made me shake my fists at the sky -- I was ROBBED.

Kidding. Kind of.

After repeated attempts to elicit cash from the ATM using both my debit and credit cards, I called Chase who proudly informed me that my accounts had been frozen due to "irregular activity." They would, of course, be happy to reinstate all accounts -- tomorrow. My head hung in shame, I told the ladies if they wanted to sleep in a bed (as opposed to the streets of Paris) they'd have to pony up their spending money. Among the three of us (remember, Dawn was in French solidarity mode), we managed to pay for the flat, but not before I endured much shame and humiliation at my stupidity.

Thankfully we managed to find Dawn amid the chaos, and even found that inaugural baguette I'd been craving.







Every March, I get an email from one of these ladies proclaiming, "We should have a reunion in France!" They must be out of their minds.

Story Story Blog

Once a month I attend a live storytelling event called Story Story Night. Each month is themed and contributors are asked to tell a true tale, live and on stage, without notes. Submissions are taken from anyone, but only three are chosen as featured storytellers. Once a month I trek downtown to hear true stories from friends and strangers alike. Some months the stories are ho hum. I listen merely because I like to hear stories, and also it takes a whole helluva lot of guts to share a piece of your life with a room full of strangers. The least I can do is listen respectfully.

Some months the stories are powerful and moving. They strike a chord in me so intense I think maybe I could tell my stories. I mentally dig through my past, searching for a story that relates to the month's theme. I craft a tale in my head fit for an audience, searching for just the right adjective or phrase... and then I lose my nerve.

So maybe I'll post those stories here, as a sort of Story Story Blog. If I give myself assignments, maybe I can get my ass in gear.

Maybe.

Thanksgiving 2011, American Edition

Holy hell, how did another two months pass me by?! So much for that whole "blogging on a regular basis" blasphemy. Ah well, here's to new beginnings, however fleeting...

As per usual,  I'm over a week late on this whole Thanksgiving blog business. This year has been a trying one -- one big move across the Pacific, hundreds of sent resumes, countless sleepless nights spent worrying and fretting, a handful of nerve-wracking interviews, four spare rooms and three jobs later -- and I'm still here. Everyday, it seems, I question my decision to come home, but for what it's worth, I have a shit ton for which to be thankful this year.

Let's get this bitch started.

More than ever, I am thankful for my family. Without their financial, emotional, and logistical help, I prolly would have absconded back to Korea six months ago.

I am forever thankful for my dad and stepmom who so graciously lent me their "spare" truck for SIX WHOLE MONTHS, no questions asked. I took them to dinner as a thanks, but I'm pretty sure one meal at McGrath's Fish House ≠ six months' car rental fees ;)

I am thankful for my mother who always lends an ear to my emotional meltdowns. I seem to have an existential crisis about once a month, and moms is always ready to support even my most outlandish musings.

I am thankful for the Becks, who let me live rent-free for a whole summer so that I might save enough cheddah for a shiny new car. And as if rent-free wasn't good enough, they also have an in-ground pool. Can you say awesomely generous?!

I am forever thankful to my Summer School Partners in Crime, Karen and Kristi. Just as my Korea money dried up, they swooped in and offered up my summer school position, no interview needed. Thanks to their generosity, my summer diet consisted of way more steak and way less ramen. *Sidenote: Karen and Kristi were my intern supervisors during my senior year in college. Still willing to employ me seven years later? Fuck yeah.

I am thankful for the California Cheezeburgers. Although it seems the entire bar hates us, I'm happy to be a member of the winning-est trivia team at Pengilly's Tuesday night Booze Clues. I like to think without my knowledge of inane pop culture, reality TV stars, and world capitals they'd be just another trivia team, but in reality, the collective Cheezeburgers know way more about way more than I could ever hope to. Also, suck it, Bologna Express.

And I am thankful for facial hair. I lived in Asia for three years. 'Nuff said.

On a totally unrelated note, a friend asked why I'm no longer blogging. I want to, I replied, as it can be incredibly cathartic. However, for so long this blog was a place to share all the ridiculous cultural mishaps living in a foreign country afforded me. Making cultural mishaps is still my specialty, unfortunately in America it's called "being an ass."