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Thank Heavens for Impregnasian

May 7th, 2008 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

When I first saw the above picture of Dina Lohan receiving an Outstanding Mother of the Year award this week, I immediately thought:

“WHO THE HELL ARE THE MING LING MOMS? AND WHY THE FUZZ ARE THEY HONORING DINA LOHAN???”

Are they a collection of beautiful Chinese women that get together to play Mahjong, sing songs, and compare expensive leather bags and children? Do they dine on rice and complain about how their sons can’t decide between going to Harvard Med or Yale Law? Do they get microdermabrasian together? Do they go for steams together?

Of course, a moment later I realized that “Mingling Moms” is just a small, Long Island, NY-based groups of baby mamas that pretty much like hanging out and having lunch and stuff.

…Which is, of course, why Dina Lohan truly is an outstanding role model! She’s very good at hanging out and having lunch and stuff!

“I’m a lot like Lindz–
If there’s a photographer and a cocktail, I’ll be there.”


Y’know, if there did happen to be an organizasian called The Ming Ling Moms, I doubt very much they would be willing to honor anyone with acrylic tips as an Outstanding mother. Perhaps, instead, they might issue a statement like this:

“We do not approve of children that do not go to university, do drugs, drink, go to jail, and show private parts to public. The only explanation for this is that mother is failure. Maybe mother should go back to school and show daughter how to succeed in life, by working hard and making good food at home.”

…but maybe not a fancy, expensive plaque worthy of Lohan’s tips.

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Honorable Humiliasian

July 23rd, 2007 | 0 comments | Posted by Diana

In the final weeks of eighth grade, invitations printed on fake Vellum and wrapped prettily in gold-detailed envelopes arrived on the desks of thirty students at my Middle School. Each one cordially invited the kid and their parents to an evening ceremony for the end-of-year Special Honors Awards. The honorees would enjoy a special luncheon the day of the event, and dessert would be served that evening for parents and geniuses–er, award winners. The only thing this party was missing was a red carpet and annoying PR agents, ‘naw mean?

When I received my envelope, I opened it slowly to make sure the gold lines didn’t tear. Then I carefully unfolded the card and let my eyes feast on the words nice and long. Twenty minutes later, after skipping out of class, I called my parents to share the good news.

“What award are you winning?” my mother asked. I didn’t know.

After receiving a B- in 6th grade Art, a B+ in 7th grade P.E., and a B in 8th grade Advanced Social Studies, I knew I wasn’t being honored for my stellar grades. (For the record, what kind of devil gives an Asian kid a B- in Art? Have they no mercy?)

“Maybe ‘Best Writer’ or ‘Student of the Year?’” I guessed, begging my mom to cancel all dinner plans and make my father promise not to wear anything embarrassing to the Awards.

On the big night, I sat in a dark floral dress in a squeaky metal folding chair near the auditorium stage. After seeing my friend Margaux receive the GPA award, Doug the presidential fitness award, and Casey the Leadership Excellence award, I started biting my nails. Was I going to have to deliver a tearful speech after receiving “Smartest Person Ever?” I practiced the wink and smile I was going to direct at my proud parents, while they clapped and cried.

“And our last award is something very special,” beamed the principal. “We rarely see a student that shows this much dedication to learning and don’t always give this award.”

I straightened up. She announced my name.

“For three years of perfect attendance. An impressive feat by any standard.” she finished, clapping with my award in her hands as I stumbled, humiliated, up to the stage.

The first thing I did was yank the wrinkled paper from her grasp. The next thing I did was immediately meet my parents’ horrified, shamed stare–the look only perfectly unimpressed Asian parents can truly manage.

This moment has since replayed only about 200 times in my head in the years since, but never so clearly as it did today when I learned that Singaporean singer JJ Lin recently snagged the world record for most autographs signed in a single sitting.

Look at him with his certificate: sorta proud, sorta embarassed, sorta holding an award that has nothing to do with being a successful music talent.

First I was embarrassed for him—then I became ashamed of myself.

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