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nightcrawler

30 Nov

whatever.  you’re mad at me.  i get it.  the whole “not writing” thing has gotten out of control and i totally suck.  why should you forgive me for going MIA for 3,459 years when there’s important things to discuss like how basically everyone in hollywood is schtooping their nanny. and how amy schumer and/or her smokey eyes + coco need to be best friends.  oh, and this?! i deserve your full ire.  but in my defense, the last few months have been a bit unbearable.  not “living with a kardashian” horrendous… but it’s been pretty gnarly.

it all started with my new job.  after only two weeks, i realized that i worked for the devil. sadly, my devil boss-person didn’t wear prada nor did he look like meryl streep.  instead, he has weird feathered hair and a propensity for screaming whilst shaking uncontrollably from a super-fun combination of rage, narcissism and possibly alcoholism. this was some next level hostility, y’all.  and as the days crept along, i prayed for an escape out of hades.

but instead i got rats.

there is nothing that instills more coco dread than vermin.  show me a picture of mickey mouse and i’ll show you the need for an involuntary 72 hour psych hold…and better throw in a lobotomy for good measure.  so when i came home on a sunday after work (note: when you work for satan you work on weekends. all of them. because clearly there wasn’t a labor movement in hell), i went immediately to the kitchen to drink a bottle of vodka feed stella the cat.  it was then i noticed those small, brown vermin calling cards around my stove and the cat food.  after having 2,389 panic attacks and googling “voluntary psych holds”, i went to home depot and bought every pet-friendly mouse trap they sell. all of them. and it was in that moment that i transformed from cute sassy coco into rambo.

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in a matter of minutes, my kitchen looked like a mine field, with every inch covered with some sort of mouse-murdering apparatus. thankfully my neighbor let me sleep on his couch that night while i waited for my kitchen to transform into the vermin killing fields.

the next morning we anxiously entered ground zero to find that nothing had transpired. by then my saviors aka the pest control guys were on their way.  after a thorough investigation, they let me know that it wasn’t bad.  it appeared that my unwanted visitor came in through a small gap in the window screen and that they were drawn to the cat food.  they were pretty sure that it was only one…tops two mice.  “just?!”  i asked if they were going to set off an atomic bomb in my apartment since that seemed like the most appropriate response.  instead, they set a few more traps, shook my hand, and told me to call when i caught something.  which meant i went back to home depot for even more traps (including one that electrocutes these vermin f*ckers), cried a bit, then got the f*ck outta there and spent the night at another dear friend’s house.

when i came home the next morning, i saw the realization of all my nightmares.  sticking out of my vermin-electrocuting trap was a long-a$$ tail and a body that told me it wasn’t a mouse but in fact a F*CKING RAT! my beautiful, clean, quaint apartment was invaded by a rat!  after having a brief but poignant nervous breakdown, the pest people came back and let me know that i wouldn’t die and that my rat problem was likely over and that i should probably breath and no i shouldn’t ask the air force to carpet bomb the building.  to which i said, “LIKELY over?” and they said “yes” and that they were convinced there wasn’t more than one of these f*ckers from what they saw.  to which i replied, “you’ve seen poltergeist right?  just when you get carol-anne back from the tv and you think everything is ok but then you get pulled up your bedroom wall and skeletons start popping out of the pool. how can you promise me we don’t have another poltergeist-like situ here?!” they held back their eye rolls, patted me on the back, and told me to get some rest.

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basically my life

after two nights at friends’ homes without incident, i came back to my apartment. finally the coast was clear!  i quickly passed out on my bed with the promise of a vermin-free apartment. but within a few hours i found out that one of the worst ways to be woken up is by the sound of an electrocuting rat trap doing its job.  Yup, rat number 2.  i also found out that night that one of the worst ways you can try to go back to sleep is in the back seat of your fiat because there is no way you’re ever sleeping again in your apartment.

rinse/repeat…landlord called again. pest control called again.  coco crashes at friend’s house again.  another rat is caught again. it was then i was convinced we had a situ like in amores perros when that cute, sweet dog gets eaten by rats in the floor. i poured over the internet through my tears, trying to find a hotel that’ll take a useless an oblivious cat and her sleep-deprived lunatic owner…something a lot harder than it should be.  once a pet-friendly room was found (shout out to my peeps at the Pasadena Super 8!!), i manically threw random clothes and some toiletries in a bag, stella in her travel case and escaped my living hell.

as i pulled out the driveway i realized that I didn’t have a litter box for stella.  instead of returning to ratopia, i decided to take a detour to my local CVS for kitty supplies.  mind you, i hadn’t slept in days, i’d been crying for nearly as long, and it was also that time of the month. so pretty much i couldn’t have looked worse if you paid me.  i wandered around the over-lit aisles looking for something that i could turn into a makeshift litter box and started crying again because ALL I F*CKING NEEDED WAS A LITTER BOX AND CVS COULDN’T EVEN HELP ME WITH THAT!   i found a picnic tray that had high enough sides to transform into a litter tray…and somehow i also found goldfish crackers, a bottle of wine, and a bag of mini snickers because one should eat healthy during crises.  While in line to pay, i kept dropping the bag of goldfish crackers which made me start crying yet again (notice the trend?).  the gentleman behind me picked them up twice for me, and i thanked him profusely and mumbled something like “FML”.  he chuckled…then all of a sudden he blurted out uncomfortably loud, “hey isn’t that jake gyllenhaal in front of you?” and sure enough, i never noticed through all my whimpering and dropping sh*t and feeling sorry for myself that THE HOTTEST MAN IN HOLLYWOOD AND BASICALLY MY SECOND-RUNNER-UP TO GEORGE CLOONEY WAS IN FRONT OF ME WAITING TO BUY AN ORANGE EXTENSION CORD!!!!!!!!

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if you haven’t seen jake in “nightcrawler”..what the f*ck is wrong with you?!!! seriously if you haven’t watched it we can’t be friends.

so let’s recap…rats, next-level sleep deprivation, ugly crying, more rats, period bloat, hands full of junk food and cat litter…and i get to meet jake gyllenhall when i look worse than the above-pictured Poltergeist closet-ghost.  clearly i was getting some sort of kharmic beating for being mean to that girl who picked her nose in the fourth grade.  he sexily sauntered up to the next cashier as whispers gathered around the store at the realization that JAKE FREAKING GYLLENHAAL was with us mere mortals doing things that would almost make you think he was one of us…until you looked at his perfect hair and chiseled chin and did i mention that ridiculously cute butt?!! and then we were reminded that we were actually in the company of a god.  a hot, talented, taught-a$$ed god.  mesmerized by this perfect deity, i didn’t hear the next cashier screaming at me that her register was open.  i slowly walked by him, drinking in all his perfection and feeling unworthy to share the same oxygen. i was paying for my cat litter and goldfish and wine when i noticed from the corner of my eye that jake was done and walking towards me.  part of me wanted to shrivel up and disappear…but something deep inside me spoke to me and said, “coco…pull your sh*t together and look him in the eye and give him one of your trademark ‘hey i’m a sweet innocent girl but i’d still give you an HJ in the parking lot if you ask'” smiles. and sure enough, i flashed him a cheesy, awkward coco smile.  to which he returned one right back at me as he walked away with his orange extension cord and my heart.

so jake…if you happen to be reading this…thank you.  you made a shittacular week into something amazeballs.  and if you’re not super busy, i wouldn’t mind if you night crawled into my window and kept me up for a few nights if-you-know-what-i-mean-wink-wink.

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and don’t worry…the rats are gone. but sadly so are the goldfish and mini snickers.

i’ll be here all week…try the veal

13 Oct

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!!!

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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.

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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).

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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.

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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:

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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

31 Jul

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:

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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!

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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!!!

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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!!!!

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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.

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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!

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xoxo, coco

 

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.

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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.

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

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

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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…

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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.

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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!

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click here for PARTT TTWO!

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.

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last year’s globes awesomeness

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

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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).

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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!

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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.

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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)

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!

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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.

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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.

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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!!!

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future-ex-husband friday, tricky dick edition!

6 Jul

omg, y’all…i’m writing this blog from my brand-spanking-new/amazeballs/non-commodore 64/did i say ‘amazeballs’ yet?/awesometastic macbook air!  since my circa-1949 macbook worked as well as mel gibson’s sensitivity classes, i decided that coco best get down to the apple store and finally procure a functioning laptop.  and lemme testify for a moment…working on a machine that doesn’t lose its wifi signal every 34.6 seconds and can actually stream video without it looking like an old silent movie is kinda overwhelming to the coco.  and since it weighs less than most of my hoochie hoop earrings that i’m partial to wearing, i now have nary an excuse for not walking to my neighborhood coffee shops to check out hot  unemployed actor-persons write like the wind!

the tao of third-world kid!

and what better way to christen my nuevo mack-daddy air than with a….

let’s do this!

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future ex-husband’s name: RICHARD FREAKIN’ SIMMONS!

future ex-husband’s occupation: fitness god/owner-founder of SLIMMONS STUDIO/professional tutu-wearer

future ex-husband’s star sign: unicorn (ok, that’s not REALLY a star sign, but it should be)

backstory:  as a child of the 80s, i’ve been in love with this guy for practically my whole, entire life.  i’ve fantasized about running my hands through that supes-sextastic hair for an eternity.  and those strong, hunky arms?  i’ve dreamed about him wrapping them around me and holding me all night long.  and YOU KNOW that coco is a sucker for a snappy dresser.  this guy has it all.  and a few weeks ago, i finally got to meet the man who was BORN TO BE MY FUTURE EX-HUSBAND!

how we met:  tricky dick (that’s my pet name for him) and coco nearly met my first week here in LA nearly 6 years ago.  driving through the backstreets of beverly hills with a well-seasoned angeleno, my friend eagerly pointed out to the wide-eyed, neophyte coco: “LOOK! that’s richard simmons in the purple PT cruiser! he drives through here all the time.”  indeed, it was my first celeb sighting as an angeleno-in-training…and as they say, you never forget your first time.

fast-forward years later to a time where coco was far more trained in the ways of the angeleno. it was then when i was made aware that you can take aerobics classes from my dear tricky dick!  well slap me to an anthill and smear my ears with jam!  COCO MUST DO THIS.  so when my dearest ruthy texted me to see if i’d like to go to a slimmons class with her, my answer was not only affirmative, but likely included a lot of swearing and exclamation marks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

so on a sunny tuesday afternoon a few weeks ago, i put on my best spandex and headed down to the slimmons studio to meet the man of my dreams.

how we fell in love:  when i walked into the studio, i giddily signed in and paid my $12. it was then that i heard the four most magical words in the english language: “HE JUST WALKED IN”.  and as i turned my head, i made eye contact with HIM.  my tricky dick was decked out in his finest studded dog collar, scarlet tutu and alabaster bobby socks. swoon!  i recklessly ran up to him (i might have knocked a few people down in the process) and told him how i’ve adored him since 1984 and how i was so excited to finally meet him and how awesome it was to be in his studio and that i loved his outfit and could i please hug him.  no awkwardness here!

he hugged me long and hard and flashed me that 1 billion kilowatt smile as he thanked me for coming to his class.   swoooooooooooooooooooon! i then ran into the studio with the bounce of a school girl after her first kiss and got ready for what i assumed would be a relatively mellow aerobics class.

within 30 seconds, i realized tricky dick was just a dick when it comes to his fitness!  and i mean “dick” in a good way.  he yelled at us!  he swore at us!  he made us feel like useless wasters of oxygen who can’t keep up with a man who’s twice the age of most of us in the room!

and of course this made me ridiculously hot.

long story short, i somehow lived through the hour of hurt-so-good fitness with my super crush intact.  we then eagerly jumped in line with the rest of the casualties class to get our pictures taken with my future ex-husband.  shockingly (NOT!), i ensured we were last in line so it would give him time to properly propose to me.  and here’s the photographic proof that tricky dick fell deeply and utterly in love with the coco:

he can’t keep his hands off me!

of course, this will be our NY times engagement announcement pic

the wedding party

after we were done with pictures, he all-of-a-suddenlike disappeared in a flash.  POOF!  heartbroken, i was kicked out of the studio shuffled out of the studio, feeling the pain that only unrequited love can manifest. what started out as the best day of my life quickly crumbled into epic sadness.

but HARK!  i heard this dulcet voice scream from a nearby car.  in that special, tricky dick kinda way, he shrieked, “get in your car for the love of god!  you’re gonna catch cold!”  i just stood there in love-struck awe. and that’s when he cried even louder, “GO TO YOUR CAR! NOW!” and while at that very moment i was convinced he was gonna scoop me up in his loving arms and take me home with him so we could live happily ever after (well, until the messy divorce), he then waved and drove away.  without me.

so while he’ll always be the future ex-husband that got away, i will always cherish our hour time together.

but if you change your mind, tricky dick, please call me. i’ll be MORE THAN HAPPY to show you my own special version of sweatin’ to the oldies ifyouknowwhatimean 🙂 just make sure you wear that dog collar. WOOF!

happy friday, y’all!

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