Archive | cats RSS feed for this section

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!

go home 8, you’re drunk

16 Sep

it’s year 8, people!!!!! yup…8 years ago today i moved to LA.  and you know my “LA-anniverary” (say it like all one word and you get extra angeleno credit) blog is always a big deal in livin la vida coco land. but boy oh boy oh boy, year 8 couldn’t have come soon enough (that’s what she said).  i’ve been trying to find a way to make any retrospective analysis of year 7 all deep or poignant or funny. but you know what?  we’re just gonna call it like it is.  it f*cking sucked balls.  like weird, smelly, hairy, nasty, droopy, super-uneven balls, y’all (and no disrespect intended if you’re down with scrotum-sucking, you supah-freak).  the whole, “car accident / girl who you hit decides to sue you for your entire policy cuz she is an aforementioned ball-sucker, having your dear sweet kitty get sick, going through a breakup then spending months realizing that there’s not enough hours of listening to fiona apple really a way to sugar-coat the fact that unconditional love was in fact conditional and probably not even love for 50% of those involved, being sick with bubonic plague-like illnesses on-and-off for 1/3 of the year, and let’s just not talk about clooney’s engagement” thing was more than my little coco heart could handle most days.  but the biggest blow you all know was losing my dear sweet yazzyhead after a wonderful 17-year run together.  

i threw myself into my work.  i spent a lot of time alone trying to protect my heart from this seemingly cruel, ball-sacky world.  i ugly cried.  i prayed.  i raged.  i ate my feelings.  i internet shopped. i watched a lot of buffy (duh). i still didn’t do my laundry.  i hoped for some amazing lesson to fall out of the sky (‘ooooh, THAT’S why everything has gone t*ts up in my life…NOW IT MAKES SENSE).  but what i didn’t really notice was that there were cracks starting to form in fortress coco….good cracks (not the bad sh*t…please don’t do crack).  cracks where light replaced the darkness.  the phone call from a friend.  the unexpected kind word thanking me for my work.  beyonce.  long walks where i lost myself yet found happiness in the silly doggies in cute sweaters all around me because LA is ridiculous.  pinot grigio.  bouts of epic clarity.

i could write about some trite sh*t like, “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” but i won’t because that would make even me wanna punch me in the face.

bears-kill-zoom

instead, i’m walking into year 8 with a costco-sized extra value pack of clarity.  clarity of what i want.  clarity of what i don’t want.  things i want?  virtue.  love.  passion. trusting my gut. friendship.  peace.  health.  balance.  a vacation.  depth. respect. a prioritization of my needs and desires. family. optimism.  better abs.  trust.  art. strength. a george clooney/what’s-her-name annulment.  things i don’t want?  selfishness.  making myself smaller for anyone or anything.  any compromising of my values.

i’m also walking into year 8 knowing i’m truly a good person (less my sailor-swearing ways).  i am a coco of integrity and strength.  i still fall down a lot and eat too many refined carbohydrates and would rather suck on those aforementioned hairy balls than go to the gym.  but i am driven by the good stuff and can go to bed each night knowing i’ve done more good than harm to/in this world.  that’s some advanced, next level sh*t.

shit-skill-must-be-at-least-level-20-for-this_fb_2643671

when you turn the number 8 on its side like it’s white-girl-wasted (go home 8, you’re drunk!), it turns into an infinity sign. like, whoah! we may chose to focus on our flaws, our shortcomings, our large pile of laundry that’s been sitting there for years months weeks, but we need to cut that sh*t out.  instead, what this past year has taught me is singular: one’s strength and capacity to love and to persevere is infinite.  when we know this, we can do big sh*t.  epic sh*t.

9677b60ef320451fdbda0535529f2eeb

thank you drunk 8…hope you’re not too hung over tomorrow. as for me, BRB…coco got some infinite epic sh*t to do.

xo

ps for my yazzy…you will always be my best girl, and i will always have you on my shoulder as i go through this crazy life.

pss this.  yup, this.

large

did you know that true love asks for nothing?

18 Jun

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.

FB coco

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.

289993_265632560203402_2072459636_o


541176_236110943155564_1168675239_n

 

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

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!!

seven (note: don’t worry this isn’t about that scary movie where brad pitt finds gwyneth paltrow’s head in a box cuz that wouldn’t be any fun)

16 Sep

i’m kinda freakin out, y’all.  as of 8 pm tonight, i can officially say i’ve been an angeleno-in-training for 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, SEVEN MUTHER-FUDGEIN’ YEARS, Y’ALL!!!!  yup.  seven years ago, yazzy and i stepped off that fateful flight from DC and began stalking george clooney a new life in the land of swimming pools and movie stars.

and people…seven is auspicious as it’s also the same exact number of kardashians.  whoah!

Image

thinking back, life was simpler in 2006.  it was the myspace years, and i didn’t need to express myself: the embedded song on my page did that, duh. will & grace was still on the air and i was still learning to be fluent in gay.  u2 was still making music and was still kinda/sorta relevant in the world of music.  i was still shopping at forever 21 and could squeeze into a size four in my hopes of being kinda/sorta relevant in the world of dating models/actors/djs/writers/doormen/basically anyone hot and underemployed in LA.

and while it was a scary time, it was also exciting and shiny and awesome.  admittedly, i kinda felt like this when i walked into someplace new in the city of angels.

beyonce-strut

and while i was more like this in reality, i owned my naive confidence like a gay man owns his overhauled 1 bedroom condo with impeccable lighting and amazeballs amenities in west hollywood.

tumblr_mt792mlkwi1r6qguso1_500 (2)

seven years on and i’m oh-so-thankful that i haven’t gotten the seven year itch. mostly because in LA that means you got you a case of the herpes.   but let’s be real….it hasn’t been a gluten-free, vegan cake walk all the time.  that lil hussy LA’s gotten on my last nerve a few times.  she’s mos def slept on the couch more than once.  but like any healthy, long-term, dysfunctional relationship, she knows i aint quittin her taut, hot yoga a$$ any time soon.

download (3)

gurl….there’s a shot for that. go get you some penicillin stat!

and while i’m kinda hard on myself that i haven’t reached ‘level beyonce’ yet (aka grow my weave hair out, marry my jay-z and have his baby, film a documentary for HBO, sing at the super bowl, and basically take over the world), i’ve done some moderately interesting things other than drink and buy shoes and pray to my george clooney shrine. i’ve embraced my need to be an a$$hole and acted my face off in more than a dozen plays and a handful of short films.  i’ve stayed out of rehab.  i stopped dating doormen.  i started dating drummers (hi, baby! love your face!  pls ignore that nonsense about that supposed doorman phase, k!). i’ve yet to be served a restraining order by george clooney’s people.  i talked to someone who used to schtup a spice girl which basically means i’m PRACTICALLY A SPICE GIRL BY ASSOCIATION FOR THE LOVE OF SPICE! and every day i live here, my boundaries, my imagination, my understanding of myself and the world around me are pushed more than the seams on those size four dresses that remain in the recesses of my closet.

so as i take year 7 by the herpes-free short and curlies, i’m gonna re-commit to embracing my inner beyonce.  sh*t’s gonna get real, y’all! are you ready?

who run the world?  coco!!!

tumblr_mo6wc6tmge1qej93ko1_500

team coco

6 Jun

well hello there!  gosh golly i’ve missed y’all.  the whole “gainfully employed, wake up at 7 am, try to fix homelessness” thingy has your coco running on fumes.  and sadly they’re not rum fumes.

mmmmmm, ruuuuum.

ok i digress.

mmmmmmmmmmm, ruuuuum.

ok, ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE RUM!

can you believe it’s been 8 months since i turned in my welfare queen tiara got back into the daily grind? and over these 6-pack plus 2 months, i’ve realized that i’ve been sucking at doing fun stuff like going out and writing and stalking george clooney.  fancy smart people might say that coco’s been ‘myopic.’  i’d say that coco is just plain boooooriiiiiiing.

1313166115543751

oh and i’m getting old too.

and i’m temporarily looking after my boyfriend’s cat.

so for those who are keeping track, i’m an old, boring lady with two cats.

f*ck.

after waking up in a cold sweat, screaming, “WHERE’S MY BUTTERSCOTCH CANDIES! I NEED CAT LITTER! OH MY HIP! MMMMM, SPAGETTI SUPPER AT THE KNIGHTS OF COLUMBUS!” i realized i better attempt to get my groove back.

Image

and people…it’s not been easy.  it seems that everyone that goes out is 16, wears ridiculously cute outfits that are effortless and barbie-sized.  they are into all the cool bands that sound like new diseases or hipster drinks…or new diseased hipster drinks.  and how can i succeed in this alternate universe?  well, i just try to avoid saying things like, “when i was in high school we pegged our jeans too” or “what is a ‘sigur ros’?  wait…is that that new fancy store in the beverly center?”

so when i got an invite to see the hot new band “the mowgli’s” at the conan o’brien show, i wanted to hide in the fetal position as i held my “sigur ros” close…OK WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT’S A SIGUR ROS ALREADY?!! you see, my BF and some of our friends are besties with the band and they’ve known them forevs and hang out all the time and stuff.  and since i spend 8 hours a day with homeless peeps and rarely shave/wear no makeup and don’t go to see cool bands cuz i have to get up butt early and i still don’t know what a “sigur ros” is, i am not part of “team mowgli”.  the few times i’ve hung out with them, i just smile and nod a lot and try NOT to ask them if they’d like me to show them how to peg their jeans properly.  i’ve become so good at this, i’m pretty sure they think i’m that odd, yet agreeable mute girl.

so to make matters worse, i had exactly 8.73 minutes to shower, shave and get ready for the conan show.  i had to somehow look all “late-night talk show” appropriate/hey i kinda know the band hot/i’m not trying too hard/i totally know who sigur ros is” chic. um, yeah.

but i did have two things on my side:

1) i invented “team coco”and never threatened to sue conan’s tall ginger-a$$ once! ok there might have been that one time but i was drunk…

2) i’m kinda a big deal in the late-night talk show circuit. exhibit a:

leno anc coco

so because of these two important elements, i was pretty sure we’d get to sit in the front row where i could smile and nod and pretend that the razor burn around my groin area didn’t make me wanna curl up on conan’s couch and sob.

instead, they must have gotten wind that i didn’t know what a sigur ros was, and unceremoniously put us in the nose-bleed seats.  curses! but i didn’t mind as i was with the cool kids who were with the band and they didn’t seem to care that my cute new shorts kept riding up my bum in a not-hot way and that i didn’t go to coachella and that i might have tripped (twice) while walking up the stairs to our seats.

Screen Shot 2013-06-06 at 8.03.59 PM

and just like that, conan cried, “please welcome THE MOWGLI’S!” of course everyone went nuts and sang-shout to their hit “san franscisco” along with the mowgli’s 1,455 8 band members.

and as quickly as it started, it was suddenly done and i quietly began to mourn my raging razor burn short brush with fame.  but then, all of a sudden-like, one of the cool kids whispered to one of the staff people and we got to walk down to the stage and hug all the mowgli’s and be all “yeah, we’re with with the band. deuces”.  of course i did the ultimate cool thing and congratulated one of the guys, who ended up not being a mowgli at all (my god there’s so many of them how do people keep up with them all!).  but other than that, i didn’t trip walking down the stairs or mention how i had far better seats at leno or ask them if they’d sign my boob…so i’d say the whole thing was a net-success.

so while i’m still working to get my groove back and the skin around my groin, i am starting to feel the love!

missy elliot don’t want no one-minute man…or a thirty-one minute blog

2 Aug

i have exactly 31 minutes before i have to throw myself in the shower and get ready for a meeting.  i could do my requisite Facebook stalking ogling, which i prefer to call “inspiration research” versus “lame-sauce time-suck”.  or maybe i could make two more shots of espresso and see how many shots it takes to find one’s way to a minor cardiac episode?  (note: so far six has just made me giddy.) and then there’s that ever-growing behemoth pile of laundry that taunts me….i could do that?  HA!!!! yeah right.

or i could just force myself to write.

you see, i suck at “just writing”.  unless i have “divine inspiration”…usually imparted by the wily antics of a kardashian or a LOLCAT (btw, LOLCATS>kardashians…duh), i find it really difficult to sit down and blog.  i sometimes stare at my cat, hoping she’ll do something amazeballs that I MUST WRITE ABOUT.  but since she’s 16 and chiefly eats, sleeps, and prepares to eat and sleep, that yields very little stimulus. so instead, i just eat potentially-hazardous cold pizza cook a healthy lunch, watch a Keeping up with Kardashians marathon read a book, and drive to the coffee shop and stare at unemployed actors and make up stories about them in my head go to the gym.  and there goes another day without writing.

well, we are going to attempt to break myself out of this cycle.  today, coco is gonna write a list of the things i COULD POTENTIALLY WRITE ABOUT IF I DIDN’T SUCK. in 31 minutes.  and let’s just hope missy elliot aint reading this cuz she prolly don’t want a 31 minute blog either.

1) hip hop classes. i could do a whole v-blog series showing you how my hip-hop skills are fierce, yo.  especially since i’ve been spending what little disposable income i have on dance classes. that would be dope, yo! but since i still largely suck and my teacher now knows my name so he can tell me all the things i’m doing wrong through a personalize critique and since i’ve somehow managed to actually gain weight since i’ve started going to class, i’m not going to write about this.

in my head i look like her. instead i’m just what’s on her shirt.

2) the guy.  remember when i mentioned that i was dating someone for longer than 3 minutes?  well, it’s now been 4 whole minutes and he still somehow returns my calls and everything.  i could totally write about how we’re now at that horrible interesting stage when you start sharing things. like how he gave me the password to his HBOTOGO (omfg isn’t “the newsroom” the t*ts?!!!) and how i gave him my password to my netflix account.  except after i did  this, i realized that you can’t hide your queue and he can now see how you spent that saturday night in watching 7 episodes in a row of “say yes to the dress”?  i could write about this if, in fact, this was based in truth…but of course, it’s not.  that’s because i only watch foreign independent  films and thought-provoking documentaries, and only on monday and tuesday nights because the rest of the week i’m at art openings or film premiers or snorting coke with lindsay lohan in a bathroom at chateaux marmot fabulous soirees.

i’m sure the top two are: 1) share anything that can reveal who you really are 2) let him watch you in hip-hop class

3) the job search.  i could write about this, but i would cry.  and then i would eat more cold, questionable pizza and watch more “say yes to the dress”. sigh.

the good news? aflac is very eager for me to join their salesforce. and i’m so excited to be an insurance broker, said coco never.

well, that’s all i was able to come up with in 31 minutes.  sorry, missy.

happy thursday, y’all!

%d bloggers like this: