is everyone hanging out without me? (and other concerns)

A few months ago, my brother wrote something on facebook about how Mindy Kaling was coming to town (in Seattle, where he lives) and how he wanted to go to her book signing. My love for Mindy has grown recently since I started following her on twitter and realized how much I loved her sarcastic and girlish sense of humor. The Kelly Kapoor that you know ain't got nothing on Mindy Kaling. This is, in fact, a paradoxical sentence since Mindy is a writer for The Office and thus, contributes to the creation of Kelly Kapoor.

But I digress.

The point is, I kept asking my brother if he went to go see Mindy but I did this via facebook and twitter and so I didn't think much of it when he kept not answering me. I just figured he missed the messages or felt like it would be lame to take the five seconds and write me back, "Nope."

On Christmas morning, however, surprise! Taylor bought me two books (the start of multiple recent fails in my goal to not accumulate books). I was the proud new owner of Seriously...I'm Kidding by Ellen DeGeneres (a.k.a. the woman who I dream about being BFF with and with whom I would eat healthy snacks and watch funny animal videos on YouTube and give away my money to people who really need it) and Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? by Mindy Kaling. And the Mindy book is signed, people. It's just too fantastic for words. This is one book I'll never lend anybody. Sorry.

Taylor and Mindy: BFFs. Whatevs.

Anyway, the book. It was hilarious. It was so, so good. I was so excited about reading it that I didn't even wait to finish my John Steinbeck novel - I would read The Wayward Bus by day and Mindy's book at night before bed.

I had never read an autobiographical series of essays like this before but they seem to be quite the trend what with Mindy, Ellen, and Tina Fey's Bossypants in recent circulation. I don't care if they're all the same (though I'm sure they're not) - I want to read every single one.

Mindy is candid in a way that is so utterly self-deprecating yet still so uplifting and laughable. Like, for example, when she talks about her weight within the first few pages of the book:

"My mom's a doctor, but because she came from India and then Africa, where childhood obesity was not a problem, she put no premium on having skinny kids. In fact she and my dad didn't mind having a chubby daughter.  Part of me wonders if it even made them feel a little prosperous, like Have you seen our overweight Indian child? Do you know how statistically rare this is? It will then not come as a surprise to you that I've never been thin in my life - except the day I was born, when I was six pounds."

Mindy figures out the balance between the personal and the random. She shares childhood stories and shows us how she got to where she is today. Yet she also gives us her random thoughts on on things such as how she'll know when she's truly famous (Kenan will play her on SNL) and what random murder fantasies she creates in her head while jogging ("Al Quada takes NBC's "The Voice" Hostage").

I can't remember the last time I laughed out loud while reading a book. Before Mindy, that is. Go read this book. Now. And plan on loving this new genre of humble, honest, and hilarious autobiographies by female comedians. Ellen, I'm coming for you next.