stranger things

last month was kinda big.  like really big.  like, REALLY REALLY REALLY big.  ok fine, not that big…but pretty big.

the bigness? (that’s totally a real word FYI)…just a few weeks ago marked my 10-year anniversary in LA.

i’d love to say i celebrated this huge milestone…but i didn’t.  i worked late and found myself in bed fully-clothed after a luxurious bowl of frosted mini wheats and a glass of questionable chardonnay.  so while this wasn’t exactly what i hoped/planned to do on my big lalaanniversary, it did give me the time and space and fiber to reflect on this ridiculous, decade-long journey.

the girl that jumped on that plane so many years ago seems like almost a character in a Lifetime movie novel.  armed with a newfound lust for actors/musicians/doormen life, hollywood coco went to fancy lounges and cool concerts and awesome art shows and delicious new restaurants.  and while she was 10 lbs skinnier, she was also 10 years lighter emotionally after getting out of a ten year relationship.  she was oft scared and awkward and uncool in this land of swimming pools and movie stars…but she somehow powered through all her weirdness to embrace that crazy ‘ho called hollywood.

how does one summarize 10 years…especially when much of it has been fueled by questionable decisions and pinot grigio?  well, you have to start at the beginning

fergie was talking about her london bridge and working on her fitness and was generally being all fergalicious.

justin was putting his d*ck in a box AND bringing sexy back.

britney left kevin federline and was gearing up for her epic head shave.

it was an exciting time for all of us…most notably me.  and as the days turned into months that then turned into years, i’m now finding it nearly impossible to summarize such an incredibly fergalicous growth-producing era for the coco.

over the years, friends have come and gone.  boys also came and went. i changed careers and apartments more than i cared to.  i finally learned not to date musicians and actors and doormen (most of the time).  i stopped giggling when i ate kale and talked about reiki…and actually learned to enjoy both (hi weirdo!).  i now believe whole-heartedly in mercury-in-retrograde and chakras (still call them chakra khans though because rome wasn’t built in a day).  some days this city has beaten the snot out of me.  others, it has given me a long, warm, sunkissed embrace.  i’ve never been more creative in my life than during this decade (exhibit a: this blog) and have never allowed myself to be more human, more feeling, more fallible than during this time. and because of all of this, i grew into the weirdo woman i am today.

looking ahead, i’m stoked for what the future has in store. i mean…justin is still making incredible music. britney pulled it together.  fergie is…well…everyone can’t win.   i have so many epic experiences in my rear-view window that continue to fuel today’s coco.  a coco who’s a grown-a$$ woman who knows what she wants and is not going to let anything get in her way.  a coco who looks forward to continuing her love affair with her beautiful, complicated city.

but never one to revel too long in the past, i can’t help but wonder what stranger things are in store for me in year eleven?

Hopefully it’s more like this:

And less this:

because that that whole ‘shaving one’s head’ thing is so 2006?

xoxo

earning your wings

i told a silly story at The Moth.

if you don’t know the Moth, you need to stop reading this RIGHT NOW and check out their podcast now…I’ll wait for you…

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amazeballs right?!

for my Moth aficionados…they do live events in a bunch of cities where out-of-work writers and actors people share short stories on a pre-specified theme.  dubbed Moth-Slams, each potential storyteller puts their name in a hat at the onset and then sh*ts their pants waits to see if they get picked. If they do, they get 5 minutes to wow the audience with a fully-memorized, true story.  once you throw up in your mouth finish your story, judges get all judgey and assign points for overall story, keeping to the time limit (clearly they’ve met me), and the relationship to the night’s theme. the winner of the night (and other nights) go on to compete at the Moth’s Grand Slam.

the best part about these events?  on their website they say, “many of the tellers use profanities that may be offensive to children and their parents.” how can i not be part of something like this?!!

so last weekend when i was listening to my beloved kcrw and they were giving away tix, i took this as a sign from the public radio gods to finally get my Moth on. the theme?  beg, borrow or steal.

i decided it would be a great idea to invite a new guy i started dating while i had an epic cold.  since dating in LA isn’t difficult enough…i figured that standing up in front of the person you like and 100 other people you don’t (at least most of them) on a stage and telling a perfectly crafted, fully memorized story whilst under the influence of dayquil, zyrtec, and three screwdrivers was a stellar idea.

in my defense he’s a big moth fan too.  and i’m clearly insane.

the entire night was a bit of a blur…see earlier-referenced vodka/OJ dranks…but this is what i do recall:

1. my name was picked second-to-last because…of course it was.
2. i almost missed my name being called because…of course i went to the bathroom when i gave up on being picked.
3. the lights were REALLY bright.
4. it was actually really nice to stand in front of a bunch of people and tell the story about the time my brother stole soft-batch cookies from every mail box in our neighborhood.
5. i don’t think i completely sucked.
6. a bunch of people actually laughed.
7. my scores from the judges weren’t great but a few nice people said nice things to me afterwards.
8. talking of scoring, my date still wanted to sleep with me.

so while i lick my wounds, i’m struck by the symbolism of the moth.  i’ve been keen to emerge from my self-imposed casing as this perfect, beautiful winged soul. but i have to earn my wings.  this means fighting for me and being vulnerable and taking risks and asking for help and getting low scores from judges and feeling like you’re going to shart your pants from time-to-time. it’s officially time to pull my a$$ out of that dark place that tells me “you can’t, no, why bother” and instead, believe that i can fly…

ps you can’t talk about moths without talking about the best one of all…mothra. she likes to kick godzilla’s ass and save tokyo. and she looks sassy doing it.  kinda puts it all in perspective. #girlpower

“If the world lives to see another century, please remember what mothra did for you and the planet you live on.” -Godzilla vs Mothra

home

dear yazzyhead,

it’s two nights before the anniversary of your passing and i’m a f*cking mess.  mommy was hoping that she was done with all that ugly crying that makes her face puffy for days and would somehow get through this sh*tty week.  and surprisingly, i was actually doing pretty well.  and then all-of-a-sudden, while i was changing my bedsheets tonight, i lost my sh*t.  if you were here you’d most definitely judge me for not pulling it together.  but i couldn’t help but to remember how much you loved clean bed linens and mommy just couldn’t hold it in any more. so now i’m sitting here sobbing and writing and listening to our queen of lesbian rock shawn colvin and missing you more than i’ve missed anything else in my life.

i wish i could say something prophetic about your loss.  but you know what? i won’t.  i can’t.  it sucks and there isn’t a day that i don’t wish you were with me.  i didn’t know i could love something or someone as much as i love you.  i guess that’s what happens when you’re together for nearly 18 years. i still get sad when i clean and find kitty hair.  i feel weird and emotional about getting rid of it which also means i’ve reached level: advanced for crazy cat lady grief. stella kitty misses you, too. i wish you could see how she’s adapted to being the lady of the house. she’s found her voice as an old lady and has become quite the diva.  she’s never been the only kitty and she’s learning to flourish in the limelight.  she’s also going through renal failure like you, but thankfully her kidneys are still fighting to keep her going.  i’m a little less scared as i enter this final chapter with her as you taught me what to do.  i’m thankful that your fight wasn’t in vain, and that sweet stella (and mommy) are reaping the benefits of your experience. we both know you’re watching over us.  and even though you weren’t the best of friends, stella truly appreciates that you opened your home and shared her mommy with her.

i think i’m going to visit the vet tomorrow and bring them something nice.  maybe cookies or chocolates.  they were so good to you, and i really hope they know how much i appreciate how hard they fought for you.  they loved you so much…even though you weren’t their biggest fan.  but it’s ok…you were a momma’s girl and everyone knew that.

once the dust settles, i’m thinking of getting a jasmine plant for the courtyard in honor of you.  i wanted to do that when you first passed but it was too soon.  a few months back, i decided to be a new-age weirdo and bought an essential oil that smells like jasmine flowers. i wear it every day on my heart chakra and it makes me think of you. i know that you’re laughing at the fact that i actually used the terms “essential oil” and “heart chakra” without throwing up in my mouth and that’s ok.  i’m learning to laugh at me again, too.

i still play this pretty much every morning like i did so many mornings with you.  you are and always will be my home.

i love you, my desert flower.  i miss you every day.

love always,

mommy

yeah dating is cool…but have you ever had stuffed crust pizza?

hi, y’all! so what’s up with my looong-a$$ writing hiatus, huh?!!  i wish i had a good excuse like “hey i was supes busy stopping ebola and/or bill cosby”…but it’s nothing that noble.  instead, i’ve been busying myself with some narcissistic self-improvement/creative/dope-a$$ ish that was carefully curated on my extremely important 2015 new year’s resolution list (aka all the crap that i won’t actually do because i have the follow-thru of an ADHD chihuahua i’m WAY too busy).  like, for example…i don’t mean to brag, but i wrote a very special piece about life and relationships and other ridiculous things that i submitted to the LA Times’ column “LA Affairs” in january…but since it’s been 2 months, 23 days, and 6 hours since i hit the “send” button (i mean who’s counting?!) and after checking my inbox and junk mail 1,249 times for a response to no avail, i’m gonna assume that my inclusion of such references as (1) delicious ramen (2) my deep disdain for drummers, and (3) a supreme admiration for vibrators might have been a touch too “next level” for the Times.

Oh and i’ve been really busy trying to figure out how to date.

Dating at age redacted is beyond weird no matter where you live. But doing so in Hollywood when you’re not a victoria secret model is THE WORST at best…and utterly soul-crushing at worst.  gone are the good-ole days where boy meets girl, girl falls in love with boy, boy gives her a 10-carat cartier diamond and boy and girl live happily ever after in the palisades after a few stints at betty ford (oh, and in this aforementioned scenario the boy is george clooney, duh).  instead, if you’re a single gal in LA you have to tinder and match.com and plenty of fish and wear pants not look like a shut-in crazy lady when you go to the fancy grocery store in your neighborhood and try not to fall down/talk to yourself and deal with your real fear of being abducted by your date and waking up in a tub in an undisclosed location somewhere in the valley less a kidney and pay for a gym membership that costs as much as your rent while you wear enough makeup to look not like an extra on ‘the walking dead’ but not too much where it looks like you’re a basic b*tch trying/care and pretend to be easy breezy beautiful cover girl when in fact you are neurotic bundle of weirdness loosely contained by rapidly aging skin that you now have to care about and shave your legs (all of them) which means buying razor blades which are freakishly expensive and consult your astrologist for sun sign and rising sign compatibility and date actors/doormen/musicians/other sundry poor people who are prettier than you (and know it, giving them the total f*cking upper hand) and pretend to like hiking + juice bars + quentin tarantino and answer stupid questions like, ‘omg you are perfect why are you single” when clearly you aren’t perfect because they don’t call you back after the second date.

it’s all this bullsh*t complexity that’s led me to oscillate between a) embracing the utter hilarity of dating weirdos in a weird town at a weird age in a weird time in my life and not giving any of the f*cks and b) espousing the life of a shut-in while i watch gilmore girls (again) and order flat round carbs covered in delicious meat and cheese while i talk to my ex’s cat about how dying alone can’t be half bad except for the haunting question of “who will delete our porn gilmore girls fun facts search history?”

stay tuned for the rest of 2015 while the above-mentioned two realities wage war in “livin la vida coco.’  will she actually wear yoga pants AND actually go to yoga?  does she like her date enough to actually consider shaving ABOVE THE KNEE?   will she actually order a veggie pizza for once (who are we kidding…I NEED THE F*CKING BACON DAMMIT!)? will she avoid “that’s what she said” jokes until the 3rd date? you will just have to watch this space…

Just like i’m watching the white space on my ceiling while i wait for that hot guy at whole foods who weirdly just asked for my number even though i looked like i had just rolled out of bed (because i totally had) and might have had pizza crumbs on me and definitely was buying only wine and really expensive hippy toilet paper…

————–

P.S.

Amy Schumer for President!

i’ll be here all week…try the veal

happy october, people!  i’ve been keeping myself busy doing really important things like deciding what sorta slutty-something i’m gonna be for halloween, free-basing all the pumpkin spice realnus abound, and omfg are you kidding me THIS KID!!!

thinking of being a slutty ghost writer this year

oh and i did standup.

yup.  you read that correctly. weird right?!

many many years ago last year when i was in my twenties, some friends were trying to get me to be in the rose of tralee pageant.  um, yeah, coco in a pageant. let’s just pause to consider how bad of an idea this really was…

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um yeah…

it was the last year i’d be eligible due to age restrictions and my amigos were lobbying hard.  and when i was talking to my work peeps about the impending decision, one of my colleagues asked me with 50% sarcasm and 50% truth, “but what would you do for the talent portion…a powerpoint presentation?”  while i usually appreciate a good dose of sarcasm at my expense because HAVE YOU MET ME?!, something about her words stung.  i think it was because even though i’d always been considered a nerd academically, i had always had a creative side, spending most of my young life being an a$$hole on stage in theatre productions, making people’s ears bleed with my saxophone-playing or chorus sanging, and writing really bad poetry because it was the 90s and i had all the feels.  so to think that only a few years later people perceived me as a corporate d*ck devoid of any artistic flare sucked hard.  and ever since, i’ve been painfully aware that to thrive, i need to be artistic, i need to create, i need to have a means to express myself through things that aren’t available in the Microsoft Office suite.

oh and i should add that thank god i didn’t enter the pageant because HAVE YOU MET ME?!!

and truth be told i can still get caught up in life and work and powerpoints and forget to let art coco go out and play.  the last few months might have one of those times (unless you count that hilarious email thread with my coworker that integrated 90s hip hop/r&B lyrics for 2 weeks straight because it’s not easy talking about a grant report and somehow elegantly weaving in r kelly in three separate instances…if that’s not considered art i don’t know what is).

so when i got an email from my friend C who’s a pretty ridiculously funny professional comedian asking if i’d ever considered doing standup, i kinda freaked out.  he said something about my blog and social media nonsense being kinda funny and that i should try my hand at stand-up and i don’t remember the rest because OMFG SOMEONE THOUGHT I WAS ACTUALLY FUNNY!  and let’s be honest, i’ve always thought my propensity to tell fart jokes and fall down a lot TOTALLY makes me comedian-material, duh.

well, long story short, i wrote one joke, then another, then two more.  then i was told i had enough for a set (that’s what real comedians call it…fancy, right?!).  then i did a open mic.  then i did a small show.  all in a matter of a week.  i can’t say i was exceptionally good…but you know what?  i did it.  i told silly stories and might have said “d*ck” at least 3 times (sorry mom).  and miraculously…no one threw sh*t at me nor did i sh*t my pants. and i held my silly coco head up high.  and most importantly i went outside my comfort zone and took a chance on me.  and it felt pretty level:beyoncé (without the obscene talent and amazingly luscious hair and legs that don’t quit, of course).

so now i’m a professional comedian (not really), i’m gonna tear sh*t up y’all on the comedy scene! oh and mindy kaling and i are totes gonna become besties and braid each others hair and i’m totes gonna be on the mindy project and then write my livin la vida coco book and she’s gonna write the foreword because she’s my bestie duh.

or at a minimum, i’m gonna keep telling the nice korean lady at irv’s burgers my favorite knock-knock jokes that i’m pretty sure she doesn’t understand but she still laughs.

regardless, whatever i do, this is how i’m gonna do it:

and if it happens to be in front of a crowd, hopefully folks won’t walk out before i’m done…

xoxo

gett off, partt ttwo

click here for PARTT 1

omg i totally left y’all with a major cliff hanger!  so naughty of me to keep you waiting!  feel free to spank me!

so as i was telling you last week, my dear, patient, sexay reader…i’ve been obsessed with PRINCE for forever and a day.  yet all-of-a-sudden-like my life was turned on its head when she came into my life. btw, i tried to use another tense of ‘came’ so i could spell it like ‘cum’ because that’s what prince would do. but alas i couldn’t figure out how to make it work because while dirty is easy, grammar/verb tenses hurt my head.

so as i was saying, it’s really imperative that you know that prince is soooo thirty years ago…and that my heart now belongs to her:

because when you find out there’s a PRINCE COVER BAND FRONTED BY MAYA FREAKIN RUDOLPH YOU GOTTA FREAK THE F*CK OUT AND LOSE YOUR FREAKING MIND AND CRY PURPLE TEARS AS YOU GRAB YOUR CROTCH ALL PRINCE-LIKE BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO FREAKING CHOICE, Y’ALL!!!

when my girl R first told me about maya rudolph’s PRINCE cover band last year, we swore to all things sacred (aka my raspberry beret and my purple rain cassette) that we’d have to see her no matter what.  even a sharknado or end days or a george clooney stalker-tunity wouldn’t stop us! we can’t stop!  we won’t stop!

and we waited patiently. days passed.  weeks passed.  seasons passed.  and no PRINCESS.  we’d nearly given up on her when BOOM!  an email announced that they’d be playing not one but TWO SHOWS IN LA!!!! oh no LET’S GO!!!!

i jumped on ticketmaster faster than solage on jay-z in an elevator.  and just like that, our dreams were SHATTERED!!!  CRUSHED!!!! OBLITERATED!!! in a matter of an nano-second, both shows were sold out.

heartbroken, R and i talked about each selling an kidney on the black market in exchange for tickets….because no one would dare take my liver.  we even considered offering to purify people in the waters of our own personal lake minnetonkas if-ya-know-what-i-mean-wink-wink if they’d give us some tix.  but alas, we began to come to terms with the fact that we would miss PRINCESS and that our tears would fall like purple rain till the end of our sad, unfulfilled, PRINCESSLESS lives.

the day of the show was like most saturdays. there might have been a moderate hangover.  there was most definitely a FELICITY marathon and a pizza delivered to my apartment because my sads got all hongray. and i did my best to distract myself from the realization that i really had zero reasons to go on.

and then, all-of-a-sudden-like, the text that changed my life popped up on my phone.

“mmm someone just emailed me saying she has 2 extra princess tix… (i had put an ad on craigslist) sorta feel like maybe we need to carpe diem? let me know what you think!”

yup, my girl totally got alpha on the issue and put an ad pleading for tix…and didn’t tell me because she feared to get my hopes up only to squash them yet again.   but two hours before showtime this nice random lady saw our craigslist post and totally offered to sell us her extra tix!  and when the sellers name was a combination of my girl R’s car knickname combined with the last name of my newest political crush (yes, i’m pretty sure i’m going to be a state senator’s wife…but that’s a whole ‘nother blog), we both knew this was divine intervention at work.

so i wiped off the pizza grease dried my eyes, and we put together our best prince-inspired outfits because there was gonna be a costume contest duh! and we looked pretty freakin hot, y’all.  i chose a raspberry beret (double-duh) and some slutty apollonia 6-inspired lace tights…whereas my girl went full throttle in head-to-toe GOLD LAMÉ FTW!!!

i knew the show would be better than double rainbows and unicorns and free shoes.  but when maya and her pal gretchen announced that a) it was PRINCE’S BIRTHDAY!! b) the 30th anniversary of purple rain c) that they would be performing PURPLE RAIN IN ITS ENTIRETY OMFG I GOT THE VAPORS AND DYYYYYYIIIIIIIING!!!!

the next two hours just flew by as i scream-sang every single word along with maya and gretchen and am pretty sure our excitement was less infectious and more scary for those seated around us and i might have pulled a muscle during “i would die 4 u” which seemed fitting.  it was beautiful and amazeballs and epic and i just stood there wondering if maya would be my best friend forever.

and just as we thought the show was over, they reminded us that they still had the costume contest. oh hell yeah!  and of course my girl crushed it in her gold lamé and she won one of the top prizes.  then the rest of us who got dolled up in Prince-inspired garb were invited on stage to sing PRINCE happy birthday.  ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME…ONSTAGE WITH MAYA RUDOLPH?!!!! i don’t really remember much after that but if i knocked you down to get the spot and microphone right next to maya i’m really sorry.

so knowing this was my whitney houston national anthem moment in time (less the kicky white bandana), i started singing like my life depended on it. and i don’t mean to brag, but happy birthday just happens to be my jam! when it was time for the big finish, i decided to get all brave and looked maya straight in her beautiful eyes and belted out the final stanza as loud heartfelt as possible. and when i finished nailing that last “to youuuuuuu”, i expected her to say to me “gett off“…as in get off stage.  but instead, she looked right back at me, gave me an approving nod, and proclaimed, “niiiiiiice!”

so now that i’ve been given the best compliment in the world by one of my comedic idols, i’m pretty sure i’m going to quit my job, start a band where i only sing happy birthday in cute prince-y ensembles, and convince maya to let me open for PRINCESS.  until then, i’ll be practicing my vocal runs, applying eyeliner, and dry-cleaning my ruffly shirts.  hope you cum to my shows!

xoxo, coco

 

gett off, partt 1

it’s no secret i’m OBSESSED with prince rogers nelson…AKA PRINCE AKA the purple one AKA the artist formerly known as AKA the squiggly weird symbol thingy AKA my future ex-husband.

and it all started on christmas morning ’84 when my bro gifted me the album ‘purple rain’ at a very inappropriate young age.  clearly my college-aged sibling hadn’t heard anything on the record other than purple rain, cuz there’s NO WAY he’d be cool with me learning about all those nasty-a$$ things that that slutty nikki girl would do.  terrified that my mom and/or brothers would find out i basically had aural porn in my possession, i’d make sure i’d listen really quietly and only with the door closed.  and if somehow caught, i’d tell them i assumed prince was talking about how nikki had a problem grinding her teeth at night and should consider a good mouth guard.

 

i’m pretty sure i listened to purple rain more than a billion and a half times. and sh*t would get real every time, y’all.  i would put on my moms frilly 80’s shirts and steal her eyeliner so i could give my upper lip a soft yet manly prince-stash.

i imagined doves crying (so emo!) as i got out of the tub all dramatic-like.

i would sing-shout to “i would die 4 u” as i eagerly pointed into my imaginary audience.

and of course i was determined convinced that i’d be prince’s baby mamma and we’d live in a big-a$$ purple castle and we’d drive on matching purple motorcycles and go to brunch with sheila e and vacation in the hamptons with morris day and the time and prank call sheena easton. duh.

oh and if you’re you’re imagining what our baby would look like…

we’ll call it nate if it’s a boy

thirty years later (if you’re trying to figure out how old i am, i got the album when i was a fetus), my epic love affair with the purple one remains creepy steadfast.

so when i finally got to see him in concert in 2011, i might have peed myself six or seven times from excitement.  my dear friend N and i just sat there for hours with our mouths agape, freaking out that our life-long dream of seeing prince live was finally coming true. there are really no words.

no words.

still. no. words.

but this i can say: i’m going to have no problem telling both my future husband on our wedding day and my first born that the prince concert was still the best moment of my life.  and they’re just gonna have to deal.

i kid. i kid.  that’s not going to happen, y’all…cuz i’m gonna marry prince and our wedding song is gonna be “gett off” (sorry mom) and we’re gonna wear raspberry berets, so it’s cool.

 

or so i thought.  because everything changed when i met her.  and now, she’s all i think about. but who is this mystery woman?  you’ll just have to wait for part 2.

until then, you can watch mah boo licking his crotch like a boss!

 

click here for PARTT TTWO!

WWDJD aka what would derek jeter do?

happy july, people!  do you know if groupon’s offering a liver + skin transplant two-fer anywhere, cuz, like, i might be dying.  and i’m not sure if you can get cirrhosis of the entire body, but i’m pretty certain that’s exactly what’s going on.  and let’s not talk about the REALLY weird orifices that i managed to sunburn.  and HEY, HOUSE, YOU’RE A D*CK STOP SPINNING!

so as you’ve likely gathered, i was either a) invited to a lohan family bbq or b) actually left los angeles for TWO WHOLE DAYS AND MY FREAKISHLY PALE BODY SAW SUNSHINE AND I ONLY CHECKED WORK EMAIL ONCE AND I WENT ON A BOAT AND OMG I DRANK ALL THE ALCOHOLS AND DID I MENTION I LEFT LA FOR LIKE AN ENTIRE FREAKIN WEEKEND?!!!

after last year’s 4th of july ebola outbreak, i wasn’t gonna let anything get in my way of enjoying a long weekend in a place that wasn’t my apartment.  and if that meant free-basing emergen-C and mainlining allergy medicine while i snorted ground-up vitamins, so be it. so when i woke up butt-early this friday and i was actually (over-)packed, the car actually had more than three teaspoons of gas, and i didn’t have the bubonic plague or tuberculosis, i could help but to high-five myself for being ready for my mini-vacay.

 

you see, my girl B and her fam have this place by a lake in a far away place i’ve never heard of and she was silly nice enough to invite coco to join in their annual 4th festivities.  and because i haven’t been on a trip since the industrial revolution and since the last 6 months can suck my right nut, i was more than stoked to get away.  and when she said something about “fast boats” and “LOTS OF BEER” i’m pretty sure a singular tear fell down my cheek and i hugged her for an inappropriately long time.

it was a four-hour trek to the lake house that included 1,230 pee breaks, 50 hundred billion espresso drinks (note aforementioned pee breaks), 1 gas stop, and the realization that if i’m ever feeling bad about myself, i should just spend 5 minutes oogling the really weird people who frequent rest stops. when i finally rendezvous’d with everyone up there, i might have been so excited i nearly drove over a curb because i’m an a$$hole a big believer in making a memorable entrance.

everyone on the trip was super nice and young and skinny and hot and tan and not-awkward. basically the search results of when you google, “coco, antonym”.  but since i brought booze and didn’t do anything too stupid in the first 60 seconds, they let the weirdo who just kept gleefully muttering “boats and beer” and apparently wore cute inappropriate boat shoes hang with them.  and for that, i’m so very surprised grateful.

but while it may have appeared to be nirvana for the coco upon first blush, there were two BIG problems:

1) there were LOTS of activities that required hand-eye coordination/not falling over.

So while i was busy obsessing over the “beer” and “boats” part, i guess i missed the whole part when my girl B talked about all the water skiing and swimming and volleyball and wiffle ball and beer pong and corn hole and… since i have the athletic prowess of carol channing and i’m as outdoorsy as the olsen twins, i was faced with showing a large number of awesome people how NOT to do sporty things.

these people could waterboard behind the boat like they were in the olympics…all the while, i couldn’t even sit on the boat without incident.  i found myself squealing every time (a) the cold lake water splashed on me (because nature and non-chlorinated water is scary!), (b) we hit any type of wave (because waves are scary!), and/or (c) we had to walk more than 2 feet on the boat (because walking is scary!).  i recused myself from the volleyball matches later and instead challenged myself in a solo game of “drink as many beers as possible then go throw yourself on (and subsequently break) the kids slip-n-slide”, which i clearly won. after that, i caught exactly zero balls while playing wiffle ball (but did manage to surreptitiously drink someone else’s delicious margarita in-between missing every play).  and i’m pretty sure i’m the first person in their beer pong tournament history who was thrown off a team for being the worst ever.  but they let me stay all weekend and be awkward, un-athletic me and for that, i’ll be forever grateful.

coco playing wiffle ball

2) we were being hosted by my baseball nemesis.

i forgot to mention that my girl B’s dad is a retired MLB player who i grew up loathing.  he played for not one BUT TWO OF MY LEAST FAVORITE TEAMS EVER UGH GROSS.  and as a girl who was practically born wearing the yankee pinstripes, i was pretty sure my aunt ellie might disown me if she found out i was under the same roof as our enemy.  so i was torn..the promise of boats and beer vs my yankee pride.  what to do?!  i could shank him in his throwing arm then spray paint ‘BRONX ZOO RULEZ’ all over his boat as i scream-sing New York New York.  or i could take this lil girl’s approach.  but both seemed a bit extreme (can you tell i’ve softened up after being away from NY?).  i was conflicted.  confused.  lost.  so i did what i often do…i asked myself, “WWDJD: What Would Derek Jeter Do? ”

ask and you shall receive. i called up to God…aka derek, and said, “hey derek, can you help a coco out?!” and that sexy Jeter voice called down to me through my 6-beer haze and said, “hey girl.  drink all his delicious wine that appears to be A LOT nicer than your usual charles shaw, smoke all his delicious cigars, relentlessly tease him about his love of smooth jazz, and make sure he’s forced to be on your wiffle ball team.” ah yes, derek.  this was a perfect plot, indeed.  revenge is a dish best served with a lot of really nice free wine.  poor guy.  GO YANKEES!

so now that i’ve had my fill of wine and cigars and smooth jazz and boats and beer and being around really amazing people, i’m ready to pass out until wednesday then check myself into cedars for a blood transfusion. hashtag the struggle is real.  hope y’all had a great 4th!

xoxo

did you know that true love asks for nothing?

words are usually my holy trinity of therapist, healer, and protector.  but now, words just wrestle in my head, only to funnel into swirls of bleck in my heart.  the result?  my fingers just lie on the keyboard, listless.

but i know i have to write. words of devotion.  words of love.  words of celebration.  words of grief. because she deserves all my words. even if the words that frenetically flow in weird staccatos of ineptness totally suck.   so bear with me, y’all.

two months and two days ago i said goodbye to my sweet yazzy.

as you can tell from my “livin la vida coco” artwork, my journey has actually been “our” journey. while i like to think this blog is about a gal and her cat trying to figure sh*t out, we all know that yazzy knew what was up.  it was coco who had much to learn (and still do).  and time and time again she’d just flash me that trademark look of utter judgement tempered with a modest dose of “oh mummy, it’s gonna be ok…come over here and pet me you silly lady” and make everything better with her yazzy awesomeness.

a couple years ago i was lucky enough to guest blog about our adventures spanning nearly two decades. and i’m so freakin grateful that we were able to share our wonderful story.  in a disposable world where i’ve found myself uprooted more times than a kim kardashian spouse, she has literally been the one thing in my life that was constant. she was often the first face i saw in the morning, she was usually the last i saw before sleep. and let’s be honest…there’s something about cleaning up someone else’s poop for 17 years that really creates a bond.  and there’s something about cleaning up poop for so long without remuneration that clearly established in both our minds who was boss.

pretty hair don’t care

when this carpet gonna fly, lady?

caturday realnus

got hoodrat things to do

b*tch please…i can sit anywhere i want

ohm

someone wants swedish meatballs

our thing

kinda like d*ck in a box…but different

can’t. handle. the. pretty.

smize!

Ahhhhhhhhh!

fierce

tequilla runs in the family

it’s a sunshine day

devil wears prada

f*ck you and that santa guy

is it caturday yet?

 

all in all, she had a wonderful life. she lived for love.  toys, treats, fancy climby things did nothing for her.  all she ever needed was a good conversation, a scritch on her pretty head, and to be near.  the simplicity of her life requirements for such a complex creature are not lost on me.  it’s like john lennon was channeling my yazzy when he penned, “love is all you need”.  sure she wasn’t born yet and she’s a cat, but those who knew her will support the notion that if any cat could build a time machine and go smoke weed with lennon and yoko, she’d be the one.

the last year wasn’t a cake walk.  but she showed her trademark moxie and faced each battle in a way that’d make a mike tyson pre-face tattoo shudder.  she took on blindness and became as cool as stevie wonder, less the beaded braids (trust me i tried).  and yes i laughed every time she bumped into sh*t.  and she just sashayed to her desired destination, ignoring the a$$hole who scoops her sh*t.  she battled hypertension and hyperthyroid and me shoving pills down her throat with grace.  but finally, her kidneys began to age faster than her spirit.  she let me shove needles in her back to give her fluids (i often shoved vodka bottles in my mouth before for liquid courage). we tried potions and elixers and pills to help make her feel better. we gave the vets most of my salary for 2 months. and in return, i had the most loving cheerleading squad that fought intensely for this little lady.  and even though she was a huge c*nt to them, they loved her feistiness and special brand of regal-ness and let me know about every minute victory she experienced while she was in their care. we would have R&B nights at the vet hospital and i’d play and sing along with baby-making ballads (her favorite second to lesbian folk rock) like maxwell and d’angelo and r kelly while she got her kidneys flushed.  her last month at home was tough, but she let me do everything i could to try to make it better.  and i told her every day to let me know when she was ready.  and on april 15th, she did just that.  and she was brave and regal and full of love till the very end.

i can’t write any more. my heart hurts.  my head hurts.  but talking of stevie wonder, i can’t help but play “as” over and over and over these past few months. and it’s these words that fill my broken coco heart with some solace:

Did you know that true love asks for nothing
Her acceptance is the way we pay
Did you know that life has given love a guarantee
To last through forever and another day
Just as time knew to move on since the beginning
And the seasons know exactly when to change
Just as kindness knows no shame
Know through all your joy and pain
That I’ll be loving you always

i’ll be loving you always, sweet yazzy.

 

put the lotion in the basket

happy february, y’all!   since 2014 seems to be flying by faster than an eight-ball in rob ford’s pocket, I’VE GOT TO DO THINGS, PEOPLE!  for some reason i’ve been all obsessive about my 2014 resolutions and who cares if they’re totally silly or unrealistic or expensive or require self-disciple or george clooney’s address/gate code.  but since i’m starting the new year as a single gal (yeah, we’re really not ready to talk about this right now….i can, however, report that i’ve completed the “watch an excessive amount of felicity episodes while i eat donuts and ugly sob-cry when i hear any katy perry song” phase and have emerged into the far healthier “i gotta stop eating donuts for dinner get single-vindictive-hot-skinny and i’m almost at peace with realizing i have to comb my hair and wear real pants when i leave the house again and i’m totally NOT gonna say stupid things to hot guys and NO MORE musicians for f*cks sake” era.

and i don’t mean to brag, y’all…but i’ve gone 3 WHOLE days without that powdery sugary fried dough goodness, i’ve shaved my legs TWICE in one week, and  i’ve stopped talking about my cat in mixed company.  f*ck yeah,  coco!  and yes, well, there may have been that time my friends had to practically sit on me when i started picking out my wedding china making drunk eyes at a drummer-person who freakishly looked like the ex.  and fine…i might have talked to him about my cat’s litter preferences and my razor burn.  oh well, rome wasn’t built in a day.

so now that i’ve got more time on my hands since i’m done watching all four seasons of felicity back in the mix, i’m carpeing that f*cking diem and doing all those things i’ve always wanted to do.  for example, guess who’s going to get heat stroke among 12-year olds in the desert with bands i’ve never heard of coachella for the first time????! and you know who’s decided she’s going to produce her first short documentary??!  and guess who’s gonna start taking sax lessons again?

(oh by the way, the answer to all of the above is ‘coco’ 🙂

you see, 2014 is all about making sh*t happen.  scary sh*t.  epic sh*t.

things like losing my korean spa virginity.

as an advanced-level Angeleno-in Training, i should be far more adept in all-things Koreatown at this point.  however, i’ve largely neglected this part of the syllabus, turning my attention to the easy, sleezy breezy beach towns  of west side LA.  i mean, now that i’ve mastered beach curls without burning my face off, it makes complete sense.  but no more.  now i’m obsessed with taking koreatown by the short and curlies and getting all up in its awesome korean grill.

and the first order of business was facing the ever-scary korean spa.

going to the spa shouldn’t fill someone with dread and fear.  but this is coco we’re talking about.  the girl who falls over a lot. the lass who was voted “most likely to inadvertently start an international incident”. a gal who has the propensity to do dumb sh*t at exactly the worst possible moment.

so going into a place with hot steam and rocks and weird elixers and foreign languages and general, hardcore asian realnus seemed like a recipe for coco disaster.  i’m not sure anyone’s ever been blackballed from koreatown, but i’m sure i’ve got the stuff to be the first.  but because 2014 is about throwing common sense caution to the wind, i decided to let my friends peer-pressure convince me to face my spa-fears.

thanks to a groupon, my girl N and i got ourselves a tasty deal at this well-reviewed spa.  and after spending 2,345 hours trying to figure out how to download the groupon from my phone because i’m clearly 134 years-old, we made our way to the inner depths of the spa.  And as i took it all in, i played it totally cool. And by cool, i’m sure i looked like my mom when i take her to bad parts of the big city.

miss jay impersonating miss coco

and then there was the whole, awkward, “do i leave my underwear on” conversation.  thankfully my girl N is level:korean spa expert AND she has the patience of the entire city of toronto, ergo she seemed unfazed by my general stupidity and unfettered obnoxious nervous laughter/ yelps/ cries/ whoopsidaisies.  she calmly told me to keep my knickers on if i so desired, shared when i should and shouldn’t wear my robe, showed me where to lie (or more importantly where not to lie), how to not hyperventilate in the MARS HOT ROOMS, and to eschew those so-last-year gangnam-style jokes.  it actually was a pleasant experience and i made it through all the steps (we never found step 2 but i think it’s because it’s god’s way of making sure i’m less linear) without serious incident.  i even found a rogue pube during step 4 and calmly handled the incident without screaming like nathan lane in birdcage fanfare. and while my korean language knowledge is limited two words (kimchee and sojuu), i’m pretty sure i never heard anyone say, “put the lotion in the basket”.  how do you say, “winning” in korean?

————–

happy early valentine’s day, my lovelies.  lots of love in your face!!