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…

…

…

…

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

 

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

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?

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

sexiest man alive

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.

last year’s globes awesomeness

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

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).

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!

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 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.

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*

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)

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!!!

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

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!

(i’m such an) a$$ a$$ a$$ a$$ a$$ a$$ a$$

i interrupt today’s regularly scheduled FUTURE EX-HUSBAND FRIDAY programming to bring you what could be coco’s most embarrassing moment. and you should realize the list of “coco’s most embarrassing moments” is both REALLY long and impressive. and even more ridiculous astonishing? said catalog of foibles is exclusive of the “coco’s most embarrassing moments while drinking” list. in aggregate, they would make “war and peace” look like a quick read.

adding to ‘coco’s list of embarrassing moments”

and it all started with a harmless monday night trip to target.

after my OCD-cleaning fest earlier in the day, i depleted all products that contained bleach in my home (and i might have depleted the contents of my wine rack at the same time). i also needed a myriad o’ toiletries (and might have gone two days without using deodorant). lastly, the cat was less-than-happy with her litter situation and was making her dissatisfaction with her pooping accommodations clearly known. this trifecta of need forced me to make an unscheduled trip to that red-and-white place that overwhelms my senses and, often, my pocketbook.

at least the creepy target lady from those xmas-time ads makes me feel normal in comparison

my target trip started off great. i only bumped into display stands twice and avoided buying any of the cute summer dresses they so ungraciously tempted me with. but i did go off my list and found myself in the microwave oven section. i might be the only american who’s lived without a microwave for longer than 30 seconds. in fact, i’ve cooked things the olde-fashioned way for more than 3 years and have somehow lived to tell the tale. but now that i’m on a tight budget and forced to actually eat leftovers (sadface), i figured having a microwave may save me some money down the road.

i was met with a bevy of microwave oven choices and the resulting feeling of being overwhelmed and under-informed. they had confusing things like “cu ft” and “power output watts” and “convection” and other things listed on the boxes that hurt my pretty head. i could hear that there were others in the aisle equally confused as to what they should buy. that’s when noticed that they were two older, sweet NUNS who were very animated in their microwave-decision ’12 discussions. so, of course i decided to walk over and rudely insert myself join their microwave debate. i mean, I AM CATHOLIC (well, on paper, at least) and they seemed really nice and they might have some good insight since they are pretty close with the big guy upstairs, right?!

the nuns told me that they already bought one but they returned it because it was too big (and i was really really REALLY amazed proud that i didn’t say my requisite, “that’s what she said” or “size matters”.) they were now trying to figure out what size would work best for them (still kicking myself…don’t say it coco!). i showed them the microwave i liked but said i needed to do some research before i bought it. they worried that i may miss out on it as there weren’t many in stock. i told them that i could do my research right then and there with my iPhone, and offered to look something up for them.

as i pulled out my phone and opened up safari, this picture of big sean popped up on my screen (minus the strategically placed red box)…

i figured big sean would be a mac guy…

thankfully, i somehow acquired momentary ninja skillz and, in a nano-second, pulled the phone away from the poor Sisters’ eyes before the picture fully loaded.

i don’t think these sweet women of the cloth noticed the picture of big sean’s junk, and we went on with our microwave discussions unfettered. well, they were unfettered. i, on the other hand, proceeded to sweat profusely and turn red like a beet. after a bit more small talk, they decided it was late, and that they’d come back tomorrow to buy their new appliance. and i decided that i was officially going to hell.

the good news? i got the microwave (which ironically just happened to be the smallest one in the store) and now lovingly refer to it “big sean”.

hope y’all have a big weekend!