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

2 Aug

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

or i could just force myself to write.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

happy thursday, y’all!

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!

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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