Archive | boys RSS feed for this section

thug life

4 Aug

howdy, y’all!  since i’m nearly done mourning my aged pubic region, i figured it was time to get back online and say hi!  hi!

it’s been a super busy summer thus far.  i won’t bore you with the details but if i told you i sorted my sock drawer would you actually believe me?  what if i told you i went on a date that included gunplay?

well, for those who know me may be surprised that actually 50% of the above is true…and it’s not the socks. btw, anyone know of a good sock organizer?  asking for a friend.

as you know, my dating life tends to be a fun potpourri of weirdness mixed with more weirdness. 2016 continues to not disappoint in this regard.  The year started with a bang when i went out with someone so beautiful it actually hurt to look at him…only to find out after a while that he was born in seattle the same year Nirvana released “Nevermind”.   yes, he was so young he could’ve been the naked baby swimming on the cover.  as someone who was old enough to be his mother already an adult the first time grunge came around, i had to release the boychild back into dating pool and wash all the cougar residue off my person. but can i just say hashtag mamma still got it?!

th

then there was the broody latin musician (yes another f*cking musician…insert eye roll here) who loved mezcal, frank zappa, disfunction, his upright bass, co-dependency, and coco (often in that order).  while he, too, was caught and released…i carry with me a new-found love for mezcal and musician-avoidance.

and most recently, there’s been the special agent, law enforcement guy person who isn’t 22 nor a functional alcoholic to whom i can legitimately ask, “is that a gun in your pocket or you just happy to see me?” promising, right?!

it all started in that romantic “boy meets girl on bumble” kinda way.   hot worldly boy asks awkward weird girl out for dinner.  awkward weird girl says something sarcastic and then accepts. awkward weird girl then has a lovely 5-hour dinner with hot worldly boy where she manages to not really eat a lot because she’s too busy being nervous and awkward…but don’t worry about her because she goes to the del taco drive-through after said date and inhales a ridiculous amount of meat and cheese and crunchy corn shell goodness.  clearly awkward weird girl didn’t screw up too badly because hot worldly boy asks her out again…this time to do something she mentioned she’s never done…

shoot a gun.

i’ll give you a moment to laugh and/or scream “NOOOOOO!” or run for cover.

indeed, if you’ve read more than two of my blogs or have been around me IRL for more than 86 seconds, you know i have ZERO business having anything more dangerous than a plastic spoon in my possession.  and even with a plastic spoon, i would likely find a way to break off the spoon part, trip, fall on it and poke both my eyes out.  so the idea of even being within two football fields of something as powerful and dangerous and scary as a gun is pretty ridiculous.  but hot worldly guy was clearly having a bout of temporary insanity  amused by my trepidation and was piqued to see me face my fears.  and if you happen to ever read this hot worldly boy, i swear i am NOT afraid of heights or sharks or the dark or neil diamond or tapioca pudding.

so i put on my butch-iest outfit which sadly meant i couldn’t wear cute shoes (SCOFF!). hot worldly boy told me to leave the heels at home without me even asking which means he somehow already understood my undying love of hot shoes (SWOON!).  so after dusting off my sneakers and a baseball hat, i jumped in my car to face three of my greatest fears…1) firearms 2) the 710 freeway and 3) wearing athletic footwear on a second date.

when i arrived, i almost jumped back in my car because hot worldly boy did something so horrendous that even now i have a difficult time mentioning without tears.  yes, he had the audacity to wear a boston redsocks cap (yes, aunt ellen…i know you’re crying now too..i’m so very sorry).  i immediately yanked it off his hot worldly head and threw it as far as i could.  ah, relief.

once i got over my shock and anger because everyone knows the bosox suck hard, he commenced with an in-depth firearms training.  he laid out all the disassembled parts of the gun in front of me.  he told me what they all were and how they worked and how they were put together.  i just sat there trying not to freak out as this was the closest i’ve ever been to a gun and omg SCARY SCARY SCARY! at some point i think he realized i was having a minor psychotic break and kissed me.  right out of a rom-com movie, that kiss made me pull my sh*t together and helped me feel more grounded.  so note that if you’re ever in a crisis with me, it’s probably a good idea to shove your tongue down my throat.  hashtag the more you know.

when the lesson was done, we jumped in his car where he had special music lined up for the occasion.  when Straight Outta Compton started blaring from his speakers, i nearly cried tears of gangster joy.  my NWA brothers took all the anxiety away, and suddenly i was ready to put a cap in some paper’s a$$.  hashtag thug life

angelina-jolie-tomb-raider-gun-babe

how i thought i looked

Water-Gun-Girl

how i really looked

and while i nearly crapped my pants ran out of the range 1,478 times during our session, i’m very glad i stayed and shot 3 rounds. and quite well i must admit.  i can’t say i’m going to join my local gun range tomorrow or even have the desire to shoot a handgun again.  but this experience allowed me to both face my fears and put my trust in another human being…two things that i often suck at.  so thanks hot, worldly guy.  that was pretty cool.

brad-pitt-angelina-jolie-gun

ps can we go to del taco next time?

the magnificent seven

21 Jul

it’s been exactly 564 days since I had a boyfriend. note that I use the term ‘boyfriend’ loosely…while the last one did possess the maturity a 12-year-old boy and, yes, he was a friend (mostly when he needed something), he bore little resemblance to what the average person would consider a boyfriend.

that is, unless their boyfriend sucks.

ad_1503132801-e1414777313400

last year’s break-up baggage sometimes felt too heavy for my little shoulders. however, one of my favorite coping strategies was imagining that said baggage was actually beautiful vintage steamer cases from Louis Vuitton…and all-of-a-sudden-like things felt better. hey, my dysfunction only deserves the best! after months of dragging around my new emotional steamer cases and swearing and crying and wishing heavy things would fall on said ex, i slowly noticed small cracks form in my emo fortress. at some point, i actually began to entertain dreams of a day where i might perhaps have a non-shitty boyfriend! you know, the kind that DOESN’T play drums/owe you money and DOES have a car.

a girl can dream.

16ce41d25419a49d71bd953704e7f49b

in my pursuit of happiness in this “post-crappy-boyfriend” phase, i’ve dated exactly seven men. i’m not sure if seven sounds trampy or lame…i’ll leave that up to you, my savvy reader. to be honest, i actually thought I’d be in double digits by now because Tinder and online dating was supposed to be my dating panacea. but while others swear by its ability to find Mr. Right (Now), for me it just stokes my very real stranger-danger issues. and despite the fact I’m still somewhat bitter that i still spend most nights alone as the shitty ex bypassed karma is chillaxing with his new fiancée who’s practically half my age, this new era actually hasn’t been that bad.

in fact, it’s been moderately magnificent.

as such, i like to refer to this cadre of man-meat gentlemen as “the magnificent seven”.

th

and what can I tell you about my magnificent seven? if you’re keeping score, zero out of seven have made an honest woman out of me. one was a weird kisser. another had road rage issues. there was that one that was so attractive that it hurt my eyes. the last one was exceptionally trampy. all have moderate-to-next-level commitment issues. however, the magnificent seven have been remarkably helpful as i pick up the pieces of my black, charred, heart. over bowls of steaming ramen in little tokyo or a bottle(s) of pinot noir in my micro apartment, they were given a glimpse into my extremely fragile and oft bleak emotional landscape and yet actually chose to see me again once they escaped.  they allowed me to cry over my dying cat, a boob cancer scare, my stress-laden job, and George Clooney getting married to that impossibly-beautiful hussy. many of the magnificent seven were extraordinary at the booty call, and if my mom asks, they just came over for breakfast. they’ve texted me silly jokes. made me strong coffee. told me that I’m beautiful and sexy and funny…three things that i packed away in my aforementioned steamer cases only to be forgotten about until recently.

i’ve been fed – my stomach with delicious pizza, my heart with gentle-affirming words. i’ve been courted. i’ve been sought-after. i’ve been kissed on the nape of my neck. i’ve been gifted a curiously-large vibrating dildo. and in the process, i’ve started to feel like “me” again. not the gross “me” who’s puffy from crying and gave up on shaving more than twice a month. no, i’m talking about the sweet, smiling girl with the big heart who isn’t scared to use it again in the quest for love.

I-dont-even-want-a-boyfriend

so as i sit here enjoying cereal with a pinot grigio back for dinner (again), i can’t help but to be proud of myself. i’m halfway through 2015 with most of my dignity intact and a zest for life and dating and the idea that my Mr. Right might actually be out there.

so thank you, my magnificent seven for helping me get back on track. but mostly for the dildo because it can be cold and lonely in this big, bad world.

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

9 Mar

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.

download

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.

th

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?”

funny-meme-about-dating

dating-fails-maybe-theyre-all-albino-in-a-snowstorm

i-havent-meet-mr-right-yet-but-i-have-met-mr-fake-mr-rude-and-mr-asshole-quote-1

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!

californication

16 Nov

sh*tballs.  i can’t believe its only 11 days away from the ole birthday.  when the last one stared me in the face, i was surrounded by strippers! just kidding aunt nancy. hey, everyone else: it’s kinda true about to begin a new decade and end a two-year relationship. weirdly, i was optimistic.  giddy even.  change is f*cked up and scary and did i mention f*cked up? but it’s also trés invigorating.  i liken it to eating at a delicious, exotic restaurant that all of a sudden-like you notice has a B health safety rating.  that warm feeling in your tummy could signal either wonderful food satiation OR an epic case of impending sharts salmonella…and only time will tell you which one it’s gonna be.

11 months and three weeks later, the poker dealer of life has shown his cards. and he had a full house whereas i got a hand akin to a long episode of watery diarrhea without the resulting skinniness.  uh yeah.

to be brutally pathetic honest…i think the hardest thing about entering this new age number thingy is that i’m doing it single.

Single-women-love-their-cats_large

maybe it has something to do with the fact that i recently found out that the ex has moved on before me (translation:  i should be the first one to find someone else because i’m clearly a vindictive b*tch  the better person).

don’t get me wrong, i haven’t been a nun…although black and white is very slimming on me. i’ve had periodic bouts where i feel like i’m living an episode of californication and i’m a slightly milder, less drunk/snort white powder off a slutty girl’s a$$ version of david duchovony (again, just kidding work/family members/any nuns that might be reading this).

tumblr_m7f0w3GDU11ryj1i7o1_500

and then there was the time when even allowed myself to feel a little bit of the feelings except it wasn’t related to buying shoes but was actually connected to a living, breathing human male person which was weird and horrible and strange and stuff.  and i’m a freakishly independent lady who likes to be her own boss (translation: i need to have the freedom to binge-watch gilmore girls in my pjs while i eat bacon pizza without judgement or interruption).  and i’ve never needed a man to define my worth cuz i can look at my bank account all by myself and see that i’m worth at least $186.78 once my rent check clears.

funnytextsingleladies

when i share with my friends about my frustration in my search for mr. right, they usually respond with a sweet, “just focus / work on you”.  and it’s that advice that makes me become a raving lunatic (translation: even more of a raving lunatic than usual).  that’s because for a long time i’ve worked on me. i’ve done A LOT of work, and i continue to do the work.

no-boyf

and while i’m far from perfect, i’m pretty proud of the girl that i see in the mirror.  she works hard.  she loves hard.  she’s honest and sometimes brave and usually kind (unless you go by ‘mrs. clooney’).  she doesn’t rob banks or shoot up heroin or eat delicious donuts far too often (there might be one lie buried in this sentence…so much for honesty!).  but i fear that if i continue to look too long and hard on “me” i’ll become a selfish c*nt.

yes, i’m prone to be excessively hard on myself and like to get all judgey-pants on my perceived poor progress on achieving level:beyonce. but when i really think about it, i have a lot to be proud of this year and beyond and even more to share with george clooney the right person.  i mean, when i come up with funny/dirty puns or trip over my own feet yet manage to not break an appendage or find my way to somewhere without my gps, i wanna share it with a hunky, shirtless man with a big d*ck heart who finds it endearing that i’m such a spaz. is that too much to ask?

funny-inspirational-quote

so i’m putting out in the universe via blog because i’m 100% sure that whomever is in charge of destiny TOTES reads livin la vida coco, duh.  so here it goes: i’m ready.  my abs still suck and i still behind on my laundry and let’s not talk about my need for a pedicure…but i’m ready if you are. sweet, wonderful, sexy, non-convict* you!

and since it’s FINALLY cute boot weather here in LA, this means you won’t have to see my ratchet toenails, mr right.  a coincidence?  i think not.  thanks, universe!  let’s do this thang!

—-

* but if you’re this hot convict, i’ll make a ‘no-convict” exception.  also, pls excuse all the penal jokes in advance.

gett off, partt 1

16 Jul

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.

n_a

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.

prince

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

bathtubvideosprincewhendovescry3

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

prince_Purple-Rain

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…

baby prince-thumb-640xauto-4532

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.

P1030690

 

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!

tumblr_lnv9crrs8O1qd7nivo1_400

 

click here for PARTT TTWO!

put the lotion in the basket

10 Feb

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.

images (7)

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.

images (9)

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.

images (8)

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.

mouthagape

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!!

sexiest man alive

13 Jan

it’s a new year, y’all!  a twinkly world filled with so much ridiculous opportunity that i’m popping a solid lady boner right now.  a time of unfathomable potential to finally finish my laundry (psych!). a year where I JUST KNOW george clooney will fly me to lake cuomo or yogurtland or…wait. DOES LAKE CUOMO HAVE A YOGURTLAND? CUZ THAT WOULD….OK. BRAIN. CAN’T. HANDLE. SO. MUCH. AWESOME.

and people…i’m really seizing that carpe diem on this fine Monday eve. Don’t judge be jealous, but my night has been filled with eating a leftover christmas candy dinner (again), listening to the high priestess of lesbian folk rock shawn colvin, and trying out a new cat litter that promises to save the earth and not track solid cat pee particles all through my microapartment.  and to add to the utter excitement, said litter must be made of 14 karat gold in light of its instant-lady-boner-reducer price tag.

i don’t know about you, but i’m pretty sure this is the stuff of a bob seger song. 

so while i’m tempted to sob into my nearly-empty sees candy box (those nasty nut clusters continue to taunt me) in light of my lameness, i’m gonna keep my head up high because of two very important things:

#1) george clooney didn’t forget to invite me to the golden globes because he didn’t go himself and clearly he didn’t attend because he doesn’t know how to find me since my instagram account is set to private and he didn’t want to go without me and he’s clearly totally over that whore-loving phase thank god and he’s obviously in love with me duh.

Image

last year’s globes awesomeness

#2) matthew mcconaughey and i are totally BFFs now.

matthew-mcconaughey-logo (1)

you are so cute, coco, that i can’t help but to suck on the side of my thumb

and since my cat’s giving me the side-eye about this new litter situ, i’m pretty sure i don’t have time to write about both areas of coco kismet. in light of this, i’m gonna focus on #2 (since that’s what my cat will likely do in my bed in 3…2…1)

———–

one of the most awesome-sauce things about living in hollywood is that you don’t have to pay a cent to see movies during award season.  just bang befriend an actor who’s in the screen actors guild (SAG)…or pretend to eagerly listen to a writer (who has enough money to afford writer’s guild dues but not enough cash to buy you dinner) go on and on and on about his latest “project”, and you, too, can have access to either “screeners” (aka dvds of the nominated movies) or get invited to really cool screening events where the real actors and famous people do Q&A sessions after you get to see a free movie. winning!

thankfully i didn’t have to do either as my girl m-dawg is a SAG-member and she allowed me to be her +1 at a screening of the Dallas Buyers Club (although i was willing and prepared to let her get to second base just in case).

Image

and because i’ve been a bit preoccupied by work and yet another bout of bubonic plague, i had no idea what the movie was about…other than the fact that JORDAN CATALANO WOULD BE THERE AND OMG JORDAN CATALANO!  THERE GOES MY LADY BONER AGAIN!

Image

well, long story short, the movie was amazeballs. as you may know (cuz you haven’t been living under a rock or in a remote region of tuvulu) it’s about a guy (matthew mcconaughey) living in texas who finds out that he got the AIDS back when there were no real treatments available. he befriends a tranny jordan catalano in his quest to both find better drugs to save his life and make some quick cash.  and in the process, he fights the man, stigma, and a scary-a$$ disease with a swagger and lust-for-life that is mind-blowing.

miss juting took this amazeballs photo before i made an a$$ of myself...follow her awesome fashion blog at www.missjuting.com

miss juting took this amazeballs photo before i made an a$$ of myself…follow her awesome fashion blog at http://www.missjuting.com

dallas buyers club not only tells the story of a real man and a real disease…it depicts how messy and amazing and scary and awesome life and humans can be.  its characters are neither heroes nor villains.  they’re flawed people who aren’t defined by one characteristic…something movies love to do.  instead, they are complex. and while they fight the good fight, they are also battling their own demons..and sometimes fighting on multiple battlefronts can sometimes just be too much.  i’ve been blessed to know a lot of ron woodruff’s in my time: colorful characters who, when faced with a really big disease with a little name, rally their a$$ of for justice, for a voice, for answers.  and we all stand on the shoulders of the ron woodruffs of the world who started this what-seemed-to-be-an-impossible-battle twenty years ago.

images (4)

so as you can imagine, i was utterly moved by the movie. actually “moved” isn’t a strong enough word, really.  more like, MIND GO BOOOM! and when given an opportunity to be an annoying a$$hole to tell the cast that they nailed it and maybe say something so awesome that jordan catalano would lean me against a locker and just say a monosyllabic word while i rolled my eyes and sighed and stuff, I, OF COURSE, TOOK IT!  i raised my hand like a huge dork. and i might have bounced up and down in my chair like i had to pee real badly. but then i upped the ante, and with a “oh fuck it”, i popped up out of my seat instead of waiting my turn.  and then i went on autopilot and started spewing things.  i’m not sure exactly what i said but it was something like,

“i’ve worked in HIV research for like over a decade so, like, i totes know stuff about the AIDS and thank you for not f*cking up this story. and mad love for showing the world that the fight against HIV isn’t about dying…that it’s about living. and thanks for not being all oliver stone…and that i hope this movie will inspire wee future cocos to continue the fight once i’m living on lake cuomo with george clooney i’m retired from fighting disease and injustice and stuff.  and omg jordan catalano will you pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaase marry me!”

(ok i didn’t say the jordan catalano thing but i really wanted to.)

and as i was wrapping up my stupid monologue and started to seriously consider crawling under my chair to hide, i looked over at matthew mcconaughey. and at first i thought i was imagining things cuz i’m privy to doing that (a lot). but i looked again and sure enough, he was wiping his glistening (and epically beautiful) eye!  could it be true?  after consulting m-dawg, indeed she confirmed that OMFG COCO MADE THE MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY CRY!!!!

and while the old adage says, “boys don’t cry”, my new BFF matty showed us that indeed boys don’t cry..but real men do.  well, now of course i’m all about matthew mcconaughey and his beautiful emotional eyes.  and when i watched sunday’s golden globes, i sat there in total awe of my BFF matty as he snatched up that award and thanked everyone with his trademark southern drawl that makes you wanna have his babies and/or drink a case of miller light with him.  and while i was the one crying this time, right at the end he throws in, “This film was never about dying, it was always about livin’. With that I say, just keep…”

holy smokes, y’all!  um, i’m pretty sure that’s kinda what i sorta said during my diatribe at the screening two days earlier!  seriously, even if george clooney never calls (but we know he will), i’ll be able to die a fulfilled coco knowing that i kinda-maybe-sorta-possibly inspired a golden globes acceptance speech by the sexiest man alive circa 2005!

and with that, i’m gonna finish my delicious chocolate dinner, crank some SUNNY CAME HOME real-loud like, and not give a sh*t if my cat pisses on the curtains again.

*drops the mike*

%d bloggers like this: