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

 

gett off, partt 1

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.

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.

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

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

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…

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.

 

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!

 

click here for PARTT TTWO!

did you know that true love asks for nothing?

words are usually my holy trinity of therapist, healer, and protector.  but now, words just wrestle in my head, only to funnel into swirls of bleck in my heart.  the result?  my fingers just lie on the keyboard, listless.

but i know i have to write. words of devotion.  words of love.  words of celebration.  words of grief. because she deserves all my words. even if the words that frenetically flow in weird staccatos of ineptness totally suck.   so bear with me, y’all.

two months and two days ago i said goodbye to my sweet yazzy.

as you can tell from my “livin la vida coco” artwork, my journey has actually been “our” journey. while i like to think this blog is about a gal and her cat trying to figure sh*t out, we all know that yazzy knew what was up.  it was coco who had much to learn (and still do).  and time and time again she’d just flash me that trademark look of utter judgement tempered with a modest dose of “oh mummy, it’s gonna be ok…come over here and pet me you silly lady” and make everything better with her yazzy awesomeness.

a couple years ago i was lucky enough to guest blog about our adventures spanning nearly two decades. and i’m so freakin grateful that we were able to share our wonderful story.  in a disposable world where i’ve found myself uprooted more times than a kim kardashian spouse, she has literally been the one thing in my life that was constant. she was often the first face i saw in the morning, she was usually the last i saw before sleep. and let’s be honest…there’s something about cleaning up someone else’s poop for 17 years that really creates a bond.  and there’s something about cleaning up poop for so long without remuneration that clearly established in both our minds who was boss.

pretty hair don’t care

when this carpet gonna fly, lady?

caturday realnus

got hoodrat things to do

b*tch please…i can sit anywhere i want

ohm

someone wants swedish meatballs

our thing

kinda like d*ck in a box…but different

can’t. handle. the. pretty.

smize!

Ahhhhhhhhh!

fierce

tequilla runs in the family

it’s a sunshine day

devil wears prada

f*ck you and that santa guy

is it caturday yet?

 

all in all, she had a wonderful life. she lived for love.  toys, treats, fancy climby things did nothing for her.  all she ever needed was a good conversation, a scritch on her pretty head, and to be near.  the simplicity of her life requirements for such a complex creature are not lost on me.  it’s like john lennon was channeling my yazzy when he penned, “love is all you need”.  sure she wasn’t born yet and she’s a cat, but those who knew her will support the notion that if any cat could build a time machine and go smoke weed with lennon and yoko, she’d be the one.

the last year wasn’t a cake walk.  but she showed her trademark moxie and faced each battle in a way that’d make a mike tyson pre-face tattoo shudder.  she took on blindness and became as cool as stevie wonder, less the beaded braids (trust me i tried).  and yes i laughed every time she bumped into sh*t.  and she just sashayed to her desired destination, ignoring the a$$hole who scoops her sh*t.  she battled hypertension and hyperthyroid and me shoving pills down her throat with grace.  but finally, her kidneys began to age faster than her spirit.  she let me shove needles in her back to give her fluids (i often shoved vodka bottles in my mouth before for liquid courage). we tried potions and elixers and pills to help make her feel better. we gave the vets most of my salary for 2 months. and in return, i had the most loving cheerleading squad that fought intensely for this little lady.  and even though she was a huge c*nt to them, they loved her feistiness and special brand of regal-ness and let me know about every minute victory she experienced while she was in their care. we would have R&B nights at the vet hospital and i’d play and sing along with baby-making ballads (her favorite second to lesbian folk rock) like maxwell and d’angelo and r kelly while she got her kidneys flushed.  her last month at home was tough, but she let me do everything i could to try to make it better.  and i told her every day to let me know when she was ready.  and on april 15th, she did just that.  and she was brave and regal and full of love till the very end.

i can’t write any more. my heart hurts.  my head hurts.  but talking of stevie wonder, i can’t help but play “as” over and over and over these past few months. and it’s these words that fill my broken coco heart with some solace:

Did you know that true love asks for nothing
Her acceptance is the way we pay
Did you know that life has given love a guarantee
To last through forever and another day
Just as time knew to move on since the beginning
And the seasons know exactly when to change
Just as kindness knows no shame
Know through all your joy and pain
That I’ll be loving you always

i’ll be loving you always, sweet yazzy.

 

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*

team coco

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

mmmmmm, ruuuuum.

ok i digress.

mmmmmmmmmmm, ruuuuum.

ok, ENOUGH ALREADY WITH THE RUM!

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

oh and i’m getting old too.

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

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

f*ck.

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

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

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

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

but i did have two things on my side:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“if things were easy to find, they wouldn’t be worth finding.”

september 11th crept up on me this year. it all started yesterday when i watched, ‘extremely loud and and incredibly close’ for the first time.

about 10 minutes in, i was like, “oh crap, september 11th is tomorrow!” the guilt pangs that i somehow didn’t let that “worst day” loom large like in years past started to take hold. but then i realized….this is a good thing, coco. normalcy is a good thing. weird. in the days..heck, even years after 9/11, we all wondered if that day would ever feel “normal”. while for far too many of those directly impacted, it will never feel close to normal, for the rest of us, we now go to the grocery store, watch vapid tv shows, go along like businesses as usual. i have to remind myself that it’s A-okay to feel and be normal today (well, as normal as i’m capable of being). and in my quest to be okay with normal last year, i set out to find out an answer to a question that dogged me for a decade. and like the little boy in the movie, i finally got my answer. may we all keep asking the questions that need to be asked and never give up on finding the answers. because, “if things were easy to find, they wouldn’t be worth finding.”

to read about my own personal scavenger hunt on the 10-year anniversary, click here:

http://livinlavidacoco.com/2011/09/11/dear-photographer-stephen-crowley/

sending love and light to those lost and those left behind on “the worst day”.

remember the time i picked up an infectious disease from a random stranger? that was awesome…

happy hump day, y’all!  i’ve been completely sucky with the whole writing thing. again.  i could make up grand excuses for eschewing my writing like, “britney and i’ve been busy with the whole mars rover expedition” or “i’ve been supes swamped performing in the london olympics” or “prince hot ginge and i have been holed up in vegas all nekkid-like” or “i’ve been studying chemistry through a redic intensive program similar to rosetta stone…but it’s called “four-seasons-of-BREAKING BAD-on-netflix-stone”…but those would all be bold-face fibs.

(programming note: please actually click on the hyperlinks above because i’m sitting here laughing hysterically at them and i know it’s rude to laugh at your own jokes, but i might be a smidge buzzy from the 2 wine spritzers i consumed and if you’ve ever consumed 2 wine spritzers, you’ll know that EVERYTHING IS FUNNY WHEN YOU DRINK ALCOHOL WITH THE WORD ‘SPRITZER’ IN IT AND THEN ALL OF A SUDDEN-LIKE, RUN-ON SENTENCES WITH KANYE-ESQUE CAPS ARE EVEN FUNNIER AND THEN YOU REALIZE ‘SPRITZER’ SOUNDS LIKE SPITZER AND THEN YOU THINK THAT AT LEAST YOU DIDN’T GET CAUGHT WITH EXPENSIVE PROSTITUTES WHILE TRYING TO RUN NEW YORK AND THEN YOU REWARD YOURSELF FOR BEING SUCH AN UPSTANDING CITIZEN AND AVOIDING WHORES OF ALL PRICE-POINTS BY POURING YOURSELF ANOTHER SPRITZER, THE END).

i tried writing a few times last week but i just end up having an intense staring contest with my laptop.  and the laptop won every freakin time, so i let it play marathons of buffy the vampire slayer instead. or porn.

but then something happened to me to yesterday that I HAD TO WRITE ABOUT IMMEDIATELY!  OMG THERE’S THOSE SPRITZER CAPS AGAIN!

it all started 10 years ago when i was a newbie global health researcher back in my DC days.  it was a dark time when i wore ann taylor separates and shopped at filene’s basement and bought sensible shoes and had unwaxed eyebrows. africa was on fire with a big disease with a little name…AIDS.  the global health community was consumed with the fight against HIV, which pretty much made all the sensible shoe-wearing and unwaxed-eyebrow sporting acceptable since we had the weight of the world on our shoulders.  and after a few years, things started to slowly turn in our favor against arguably the most sh*tballs disease the world has ever seen.  but as the world focussed on HIV, other serious diseases were being neglected. just like my laundry.

and the most “red-headed step-child” disease of them all?  malaria.  when i found out that nearly 3 million people died from malaria every year…and most of them were little babies in africa, i was all, “why is no one talking about the malaria and the dying babies?!”  and it was then that i began what felt like a one-woman push to get US policymakers to prioritize the fight against malaria.  and boy was i annoying with all the malaria talk.  i nagged convinced my boss that we should focus our work for the next year on malaria.  i read everything i could about malaria and mosquitos and bed nets and breeding grounds and…well, you get the idea.  i even once talked to hillary clinton about how the US was totally sucking when it came to fighting malaria in africa…ok i didn’t really talk to hillary but i did talk to one of her staffers which is practically talking to hill, right?!

people started calling me “miss malaria” and quickly knew that they best not ask me about anything related to the disease or else they’d be sitting there being lectured about the parasite and its lifecycle and US policies against insecticides and…ok i’ll stop now.  and before you knew it, the buzz (haha..buzz!  get it?!) around malaria was growing.  and all-of-a-sudden-like, malaria was front-and-center on the public health agenda.  and while  i like to take complete credit for this 180 degree shift, the fact is that i had joined a small army of folks working their fingers to the bone to get malaria on the radar…and together, we did it.

ok, so now to the good part.

since i have this affinity for kicking some malaria ass, people like to send me things that are malaria-related.  this includes this, AKA THE BEST GIFT EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD AMEN:

meet plushy plasmodium falciparum…aka the parasite that causes malaria…isn’t he cute?

yup, an ex gave me a stuffed-“animal” version of the malaria parasite (which is MUCH BETTER THAN GIVING ME AN STD).  and while mr malaria plushy was part of a set that included a white blood cell and an e-coli bacterium, the malaria parasite was my TOTES FAV (yup, when i have kids i’m gonna totally have favorites and they’re gonna know it).  i proudly displayed mr malaria parasite on my desk and secretly hoped people would ask me about him so i could give them a 20 minute lecture about the pathogenesis of malaria.  yeah, my coolness can’t be contained!

you can never start too early teaching kids about pathogens and the human immune system…and you can tell he’s totally eating it all up!

since the layoff, most of my office stuff has been packed away in my car trunk. and this includes mr. malaria plushy.  and boy oh boy oh boy have i missed the little guy…and any opportunity to talk about malaria.  but then something really really amazeballs happened.

i parked my car in front of my apartment yesterday and found this waiting for me as i stepped out of my car:

what the what?!!! oh and i need a pedicure…

i picked mr malaria plushy up thinking perhaps it fell out of my trunk.  and then i checked my trunk and realized this was NOT my malaria plushy, but a random malaria parasite stuffed animal that’s been god-knows-where and i’m holding it my hands and i probably just caught a really bad disease from touching the rogue stuffed parasite.  after washing my hands with boric acid 1, 234 times and praying that i didn’t get a serious case of street kooties, i couldn’t help but to get giddy.   somehow, somewhere, there was another person in MY NEIGHBORHOOD who knows what a plasmodium falciparum is and is as big of a geek as me to have a parasitic stuffed animal.  the chances of this happening are as slim as lindsay lohan complying with the terms of her probation.  and in a time when i’ve felt quite alone and confused when it comes to my professional life (or lack thereof), this little kismetic occurance reminded me that i’ve got a lot more fight left in me…and that others around me do too.

so to the random person who lost their malaria plushy…i can honestly say this is the first time i’ve said to a stranger, “i’m glad i picked up your infectious disease.” 🙂

wishing you all lots of health, wealth and happiness.

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!

raising kane

the bad news? i didn’t get the job. the good news? i have not one BUT TWO BOTTLES OF VODKA IN MY FREEZER OH THANK YOU BABY JESUS!

for those keeping score (i mean, there could be a “coco job-hunt fantasy league” out there), i’m zero for three with prospective employers. which is kinda okay, because now i’m closer to becoming the susan lucci of job hunters. except i’m nothing like susan lucci other than the losing part since she’s in ridiculous shape and has AHHMAZING cheekbones and has slept with nearly every man in pine valley. and those cheek bones! did i mention those cheekbones? f*ck the daytime emmys when you’re erica kane.

sleeping with half of pine valley>;daytime emmy

after reading the rejection email 567 a few times, i was tempted to eat an entire box of ice-cream sandwiches. or weep in the face of my cat’s smug, judgmental looks. but just when i was ready to cry my eyes out in a REALLY LARGE bowl of cheetos while i watched steel magnolias for the umpteenth time, i heard something. it was a voice with impeccable diction…asking me, “what what would erica kane do? would erica kane let this get her down?” oh hells to the no. “would she bitch-slap anyone getting in her way…and look fabulous doing it?” abso-freakin-lutely. “would she crumble in the face of adversity?” not only would she stand tall in her finest stilettos, she’d also take on a new, rich, hunky husband AND start a new fragrance company AND exact revenge on her nemesi.

so with this new outlook, i better put the cheetos away get to bed so i can get my beauty sleep….because starting tomorrow, i’m gonna be raising some serious kane!

Sweet, sassy dreams, y’all.

a is for apathy (and a pole-dancing b*tch)

today is a big day, y’all!  okay, it’s not a “secure-a-divorce-and-custody-settlement-from-tom-cruise” kinda big day…but i do have a job interview with a cool little non-profit.  if i get the job, i’ll be working with my angeleno peeps in some tough hoods to help improve their health and nutrition.  while i’m super stoked about this potential opportunity, i REALLY hope they don’t look at my refrigerator as part of the interview process.

one of the things i did have to do was to answer the following (and in one-page no less…holy “keep it short and simple”!)

“What social problem is most compelling to you? Pick one or more organizations to partner with to address this social issue. What would you do? How would your solution engage a broad and relevant community, who would benefit, and how it would ultimately drive impact. And feel free to get creative with it!”

crap.  how do you pick one problem in a world filled with a bazillion challenges?  while i was tempted to write about the global plight called “the kardashians” (especially in light of their recent breeding), i decided against it at the last minute.  instead, i drank a bottle of wine and watched three episodes of queer eye for the straight guy did a heavy dose of soul searching and this is what i came up with:

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A is for Apathy

One word: Apathy. 

Apathy kills.  Apathy allows bad ideas to permeate our society.  Apathy prevents good things from taking root in our communities.  When individuals feel disenfranchised, bitter, overwhelmed, it’s often the path of least resistance that’s adopted.  I’ve done it.  You’ve done it.  It’s better to dig a proverbial hole and put your head in it until things get better.

We wake up every morning to sensationalized news that tells us this group is killing that group…or that this celebrity is divorcing that celebrity. With globalization and boundless means to communicate, we’re bombarded with information that is often of poor content and quality. All the while, there are babies starving in the Horn of Africa. Our national debt is of astronomical proportions. There’s a rotating roster of politicians getting caught doing extremely unsavory things.  And then there’s Lindsay Lohan.

With all this noise and bad news and lack of clear solutions to these overwhelming problems, we just soldier on.  We go to work.  We come home and make dinner.  We check our Facebook and watch Dancing with the Stars.  We go to bed and do the same the next day.  That’s because there seems to be no other viable alternative solutions.

 But there are solutions. And it’s our responsibility to get that message out there.

We must reinvigorate our communities to re-realize that if there’s something they want to change or improve, they can do it.  I think we’ve forgotten that the smallest of efforts can truly make a difference.  In today’s world of social media, even the shyest and most docile person can become a community leader.  But we must teach people how to do this.   We must get to know our neighbors again so we can join together.  We have to put away the Blackberries and iPhones and PlayStations and pick up the phone.  We need to listen more and speak less.  We need to teach our children to think critically and be stewards of their schools.  We need to take less and help those with less more. 

When we take small, tangible steps to making a difference…whether it’s for improving the nutrition in school lunches, expanding the offerings in the public library, or addressing growing illiteracy rates…we can make a difference.  It may not be easy.  It may require long hours and being unpopular with some people in the community.  It may mean learning how to tweet or to create a website.  But if you can get others mobilized, the power of one is magnified with compound interest.

So how do we re-instill these values and skills?  We work with corporations and foundations to support programs that promote activism in our schools and communities.  While a Bank of America may not be a good partner for such endeavors for obvious reasons, there’s plenty of community-supporting businesses who share similar values.  Using existing community structures and creating and/or bolstering ones where they don’t exist, we can instill a sense of shared common values and teach people how to identify and address the key challenges in their spaces.  When you share how an elementary school girl in Scotland single-handedly influenced school officials to improve her school’s lunch program or how millions were moved to lobby against the atrocities of Uganda’s Joseph Kony through a simple video that went viral, it doesn’t seem as scary.

 So let’s think big, act small and kick some proverbial ass to make things a little bit better.

——————

after i hit the “send” button, i felt a whole heap of  ‘katie holmes’ better…which was kinda weird and confusing and odd at first. but then it hit me.  i’d been fighting with my own personal plight of apathy for a while.  and to write a short manifesto as to why i’ve chosen to make a career of helping others kinda helped to reignite my own internal pilot light (and supes glad the wine fumes didn’t combust!).  while i’m not cured from the feelings of burn-out and jaded-ness that i’ve acquired after 12+ years in my field, i did realize something:  i do miss seeing someone be the best they can be with a little help from others (including me).

okay, enough of this “we are the world” BS from the coco…barf.  let’s just forget that just happened.  instead, let’s discuss how i can teach my cat how to do this, ok?

have a great tuesday, y’all!