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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.


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 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…



Amy Schumer for President!

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!


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!

you do an eclectic celebration of the dance!

3 Mar

sorry i’ve been so quiet this week.  i’ve tried to blog a few times…but every time i typed a word, i screamed louder than charlie sheen’s publicist.  you see, coco is suffering from a little-known ailment called ‘acute forearm fosse-itis’.

it all started three weeks ago.   coco began rehearsing for her first musical production since the 9th grade.  and not just any musical…it’s SWEET CHARITY.  and for my non-musical theatre geeks friends, it’s important to know two things about SWEET CHARITY.  first of all, it’s super awesome because i get to wear a trampy costume and sing about baudy things.  secondly, it’s super difficult as the choreography is all about the fosse.

bob fosse was a famous choreographer who loved to make dancers do things that are banned by the UN convention on human rights shouldn’t be humanly possible.  especially weird arm contortions.  like this:


and this

and this

four times a week, the anti-christ our SWEET CHARITY choreographer forces me do these horrible things to my arms and body all in the name of fosse. things that have lead to my debilitating forearm condition.

coco and cast getting their fosse abuse on


f*cked up, right? and adding insult to injury, most of my castmates aren’t old enough to have worn leg warmers the first time around.  and the three professional dancers in our cast who look at me funny when i grunt and swear because i’m old and out-of-shape and uncoordinated?  i officially hate them, their obscenely taut derrieres, and how they make everything look so easy.

so as i ice my forearms and wait for the vodka tylenol to kick it, i’m desperately hoping i can convince my choreographer to take a slightly different,  more eclectic celebration of the dance approach in light of my injury. i’m thinking something like this:

and if that fails, i’m also really good at standing there like an object and keeping it all inside.


f*ck you, fergie!

23 Jan

happy new year, y’all!  coco has been on a bit of a writing hiatus since the christmas holidays.  you see, i’ve been busy with very important activities, including:

(1) 6 hours co-refereeing a holiday cookie bake-off/sleepover for 7 year-old boys (inclusive of pillow fighting, tears, and coco hitting the sauce post-bedtime).

(2) 5 days back in the frozen tundra of the mid-atlantic (inclusive of daily nephew meltdowns and subsequent excessive personal consumption of spiked eggnog.  note pattern here).

(3) 30 hours in vegas (inclusive of having a hotel bar manager search my face for crow’s feet in lieu of having my ID and an aborted trip to a strip club).

(4) 3 days of nearly dying from a virus akin to ebola (inclusive of me feeling sorry for myself as it was apparent i may die from congestion (it could happen!) and subsequent nyquil abuse fondness).

so now that the holidays and my bout with ebola are a dot in life’s rear view mirror, it’s time for coco to take 2011 by the short and curlies.  and what this really means is allowing my liver to dry out, finding the strength to look at my credit card bills, and making all my dreams come true.

and coco’s first dream is to be able to get her skinny jeans past her knees and over her badonkadonk. you see, it appears that the aforementioned eggnog and christmas cookies and nyquil combo has hexed my scale and all my clothes.  and while i’m convinced it’s the devil’s work and/or my dryer that’s lead to the epic clothes shrinkage, i have decided to keep an open mind as to how to rectify the situation (especially as the “anti-hexing” spell didn’t work).  and that includes considering the dirty word that some refer to as “exercise”.

conveniently, i’m friends with the idi amin of calisthenics.  while complaining about my perplexing case of the incredible shrinking jeans over six a long island ice tea and plate of taquitos, he informed me that exercise might help.  and that he could help me as a personal trainer.  while i pshawed the notion, i couldn’t help but to think that mr. “i have a six-pack” might know what he was talking about.

crap.  i hate when other people are right…especially when it means i can’t sit on my derriere and eat bonbons all day while watching a paranormal state marathon.

acquiescing to the idea of working on my fitness (f*ck you, fergie), the baby doc of workouts has been training me for the past 6 days.

dear oppressor, i want to look like this. kthanxbai.

between the torture running, waterboarding leg lifts, walking a trail of tears hiking, and being starved healthy eating, i’m SO ready to give away any and all state secrets if it means i can have a cheeseburger.  but alas, for the past 144 hours, i’ve been sticking to the regime he’s set out for me. willingly, i might add…

which really means you should call amnesty ASAP cuz clearly i’m suffering from a serious case of stockholm syndrome.

here’s to a healthy and happy 2011, y’all!

big trouble with little coco

15 Dec

how in the hades is 2010 nearly done?! it seems like just yesterday i started working on my 2010 new year’s resolutions.  and somehow i woke up all-of-a-sudden-like and found 2011 standing uncomfortably close to me like that creepy guy in the elevator.

when i looked at my list of 2010 goals this weekend,  i realized that i had accomplished about half and at least tried to do something about the rest. but there was one thing on this year’s list that i had completely ignored:

#16. get acupuncture weekly.

back in 2009, i tried acupuncture for the first time as part of my angelino-in- training program.  and i thought it was okay.  and by okay, i mean i FREAKIN LOVED IT! however, due to the public-health-worker-salary-unfriendly cost of the ‘you-fancy-huh’ acupuncture clinic, i had to say goodbye to my weekly sessions.

fast forward to this saturday.  while shopping in los feliz running errands,  i happened upon an acupuncture clinic that seemed to call my name.  cooooocoooooooooo….. armed with the $200 left in my flex spending plan and 2-hours of free time before i had to drink wine do a table read of a play, coco took a deep breath and said nǐ hǎo to her newest adventure.

as i walked into the waiting room, i noticed that this clinic was a bit…how can i say this politely…rustic.  suffocating my inner-howard hughes, i decided that said rustic-ness was exciting for two reasons: 1) i could probably afford their services and 2) this clinic screamed “authentic”.  since ‘cheap and authentic’ is my mantra for finding dates designer purses…i figured it should apply to acupuncture clinics, too, right?!

i won’t bore you with the details of my epic, 2-hour experience.  just imagine if Big Trouble in Little China revolved around an acupuncture clinic and i was kim cattrall.

chinese astrology charts were developed.  animated discussions about my chi and liver and baby-making abilities and bowel movements and tongue shape were conducted largely in chinese.  two rounds of needles were sunk into me while i tried to figure out the weird exotic smell that wafted from under the table.  and unbeknownst to me (that is until it was too late), sucky jars were placed on my back as i tried to contain my inner “the scream”.

sadly, the only thing missing from this experience was  kurt russell …but i’m hoping he’ll appear during next week’s appointment. yes, coco is going back!

so as i prepare my a$$-smelling tea herbs and rub salve on what looks like 8 HUGE hickeys on my back,  i think  i should learn some conversational mandarin for next week’s big trouble in little china appointment.

my first lesson: does anyone know how to say, “can kurt russell poke me today?” in chinese?

happy holidays, y’all!

coco 2.0 (beta)

25 Jan

one of the best things about january is that you get to fantasize about creating a new version of you.  like how i’ll start looking like megan fox, start acting like mother teresa, and stop drinking like amy winehouse.

and while i think i just heard some snickers across the innertubes, i would like to point out that i actually made a list of goals for 2010 with the help of my lovely ladies in book club.  the book club that hasn’t kicked me out even though i drink all their wine and have yet to read a book.  clearly they’ve got the mother teresa thing down to a tee.

and i’ve heard that the best way to actualize my outter meghan fox (cuz i’ve mastered my ‘trashy, bad acting inner megan fox’) is to share your pipedreamsgoals with others.  by doing so, it supposedly makes you accountable.  so, to start the ball rolling, here’s my top 2.

1) get in shape. this one might be the hardest goal for coco.  it’s mostly because she’s afraid of the outdoors and sweat and gym equipment and flat shoes, in general.  but i’m putting my fears and slothness aside and putting my faith in her:

look at her. she’s wearing hot pink.  she’s smiling.  she’s got mom hair.  and even though she’s clearly got to pee, she’s not going to let that get in the way of giving coco abs of steel. and she’s not offering up just a normal slim down blend.  NOOOOOO, it’s “SUPER”.  in caps.  with a hot pink bar on each side of “SUPER”.  she’s all about the flair. i die.  in light of her awesomeness, i’m banking on miss hot-pink-pants-with-mom-hair-who-sits-like-she-has-to-pee.  if she can’t whip me into shape, no one can.

2) be happy. i always thought i was a moderately shiny, happy person. but then i watched JULIE AND JULIA.  and then i all i wanted to do was eat a stick of butter (i’m quite sure megan fox does not do this as part of her fitness plan) and cry because i do not possess one-bazillionth percent of julia child’s joie de vivre.  even though her silhouette was closer to big bird’s than bridget bardot’s and she was a virgin until the age of 40, the lady might have been the most effervescent person who’s EVER walked the earth.

that laugh!  that positive outlook!  that perseverance!  and while cooking souffles and tartines and beurre blanc and other really hard frenchy things.  when i cook, i swear a lot.  and i burn things.  and let’s just put it this way…the stick of butter isn’t the only thing having a melt down moment in the kitchen. so, after my julia child interventioninspiration, i’m vowing to belly laugh more and belly ache less.

so dear friends, feel free to share what you’re working on to become less lindsay lohanmore you…although between you and me, i kinda think you’re awesome just the way you are.

hugs and sloppy kisses,

coco 2.0 (beta)

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