Archive | new beginnings RSS feed for this section

thug life

4 Aug

howdy, y’all!  since i’m nearly done mourning my aged pubic region, i figured it was time to get back online and say hi!  hi!

it’s been a super busy summer thus far.  i won’t bore you with the details but if i told you i sorted my sock drawer would you actually believe me?  what if i told you i went on a date that included gunplay?

well, for those who know me may be surprised that actually 50% of the above is true…and it’s not the socks. btw, anyone know of a good sock organizer?  asking for a friend.

as you know, my dating life tends to be a fun potpourri of weirdness mixed with more weirdness. 2016 continues to not disappoint in this regard.  The year started with a bang when i went out with someone so beautiful it actually hurt to look at him…only to find out after a while that he was born in seattle the same year Nirvana released “Nevermind”.   yes, he was so young he could’ve been the naked baby swimming on the cover.  as someone who was old enough to be his mother already an adult the first time grunge came around, i had to release the boychild back into dating pool and wash all the cougar residue off my person. but can i just say hashtag mamma still got it?!

th

then there was the broody latin musician (yes another f*cking musician…insert eye roll here) who loved mezcal, frank zappa, disfunction, his upright bass, co-dependency, and coco (often in that order).  while he, too, was caught and released…i carry with me a new-found love for mezcal and musician-avoidance.

and most recently, there’s been the special agent, law enforcement guy person who isn’t 22 nor a functional alcoholic to whom i can legitimately ask, “is that a gun in your pocket or you just happy to see me?” promising, right?!

it all started in that romantic “boy meets girl on bumble” kinda way.   hot worldly boy asks awkward weird girl out for dinner.  awkward weird girl says something sarcastic and then accepts. awkward weird girl then has a lovely 5-hour dinner with hot worldly boy where she manages to not really eat a lot because she’s too busy being nervous and awkward…but don’t worry about her because she goes to the del taco drive-through after said date and inhales a ridiculous amount of meat and cheese and crunchy corn shell goodness.  clearly awkward weird girl didn’t screw up too badly because hot worldly boy asks her out again…this time to do something she mentioned she’s never done…

shoot a gun.

i’ll give you a moment to laugh and/or scream “NOOOOOO!” or run for cover.

indeed, if you’ve read more than two of my blogs or have been around me IRL for more than 86 seconds, you know i have ZERO business having anything more dangerous than a plastic spoon in my possession.  and even with a plastic spoon, i would likely find a way to break off the spoon part, trip, fall on it and poke both my eyes out.  so the idea of even being within two football fields of something as powerful and dangerous and scary as a gun is pretty ridiculous.  but hot worldly guy was clearly having a bout of temporary insanity  amused by my trepidation and was piqued to see me face my fears.  and if you happen to ever read this hot worldly boy, i swear i am NOT afraid of heights or sharks or the dark or neil diamond or tapioca pudding.

so i put on my butch-iest outfit which sadly meant i couldn’t wear cute shoes (SCOFF!). hot worldly boy told me to leave the heels at home without me even asking which means he somehow already understood my undying love of hot shoes (SWOON!).  so after dusting off my sneakers and a baseball hat, i jumped in my car to face three of my greatest fears…1) firearms 2) the 710 freeway and 3) wearing athletic footwear on a second date.

when i arrived, i almost jumped back in my car because hot worldly boy did something so horrendous that even now i have a difficult time mentioning without tears.  yes, he had the audacity to wear a boston redsocks cap (yes, aunt ellen…i know you’re crying now too..i’m so very sorry).  i immediately yanked it off his hot worldly head and threw it as far as i could.  ah, relief.

once i got over my shock and anger because everyone knows the bosox suck hard, he commenced with an in-depth firearms training.  he laid out all the disassembled parts of the gun in front of me.  he told me what they all were and how they worked and how they were put together.  i just sat there trying not to freak out as this was the closest i’ve ever been to a gun and omg SCARY SCARY SCARY! at some point i think he realized i was having a minor psychotic break and kissed me.  right out of a rom-com movie, that kiss made me pull my sh*t together and helped me feel more grounded.  so note that if you’re ever in a crisis with me, it’s probably a good idea to shove your tongue down my throat.  hashtag the more you know.

when the lesson was done, we jumped in his car where he had special music lined up for the occasion.  when Straight Outta Compton started blaring from his speakers, i nearly cried tears of gangster joy.  my NWA brothers took all the anxiety away, and suddenly i was ready to put a cap in some paper’s a$$.  hashtag thug life

angelina-jolie-tomb-raider-gun-babe

how i thought i looked

Water-Gun-Girl

how i really looked

and while i nearly crapped my pants ran out of the range 1,478 times during our session, i’m very glad i stayed and shot 3 rounds. and quite well i must admit.  i can’t say i’m going to join my local gun range tomorrow or even have the desire to shoot a handgun again.  but this experience allowed me to both face my fears and put my trust in another human being…two things that i often suck at.  so thanks hot, worldly guy.  that was pretty cool.

brad-pitt-angelina-jolie-gun

ps can we go to del taco next time?

the magnificent seven

21 Jul

it’s been exactly 564 days since I had a boyfriend. note that I use the term ‘boyfriend’ loosely…while the last one did possess the maturity a 12-year-old boy and, yes, he was a friend (mostly when he needed something), he bore little resemblance to what the average person would consider a boyfriend.

that is, unless their boyfriend sucks.

ad_1503132801-e1414777313400

last year’s break-up baggage sometimes felt too heavy for my little shoulders. however, one of my favorite coping strategies was imagining that said baggage was actually beautiful vintage steamer cases from Louis Vuitton…and all-of-a-sudden-like things felt better. hey, my dysfunction only deserves the best! after months of dragging around my new emotional steamer cases and swearing and crying and wishing heavy things would fall on said ex, i slowly noticed small cracks form in my emo fortress. at some point, i actually began to entertain dreams of a day where i might perhaps have a non-shitty boyfriend! you know, the kind that DOESN’T play drums/owe you money and DOES have a car.

a girl can dream.

16ce41d25419a49d71bd953704e7f49b

in my pursuit of happiness in this “post-crappy-boyfriend” phase, i’ve dated exactly seven men. i’m not sure if seven sounds trampy or lame…i’ll leave that up to you, my savvy reader. to be honest, i actually thought I’d be in double digits by now because Tinder and online dating was supposed to be my dating panacea. but while others swear by its ability to find Mr. Right (Now), for me it just stokes my very real stranger-danger issues. and despite the fact I’m still somewhat bitter that i still spend most nights alone as the shitty ex bypassed karma is chillaxing with his new fiancée who’s practically half my age, this new era actually hasn’t been that bad.

in fact, it’s been moderately magnificent.

as such, i like to refer to this cadre of man-meat gentlemen as “the magnificent seven”.

th

and what can I tell you about my magnificent seven? if you’re keeping score, zero out of seven have made an honest woman out of me. one was a weird kisser. another had road rage issues. there was that one that was so attractive that it hurt my eyes. the last one was exceptionally trampy. all have moderate-to-next-level commitment issues. however, the magnificent seven have been remarkably helpful as i pick up the pieces of my black, charred, heart. over bowls of steaming ramen in little tokyo or a bottle(s) of pinot noir in my micro apartment, they were given a glimpse into my extremely fragile and oft bleak emotional landscape and yet actually chose to see me again once they escaped.  they allowed me to cry over my dying cat, a boob cancer scare, my stress-laden job, and George Clooney getting married to that impossibly-beautiful hussy. many of the magnificent seven were extraordinary at the booty call, and if my mom asks, they just came over for breakfast. they’ve texted me silly jokes. made me strong coffee. told me that I’m beautiful and sexy and funny…three things that i packed away in my aforementioned steamer cases only to be forgotten about until recently.

i’ve been fed – my stomach with delicious pizza, my heart with gentle-affirming words. i’ve been courted. i’ve been sought-after. i’ve been kissed on the nape of my neck. i’ve been gifted a curiously-large vibrating dildo. and in the process, i’ve started to feel like “me” again. not the gross “me” who’s puffy from crying and gave up on shaving more than twice a month. no, i’m talking about the sweet, smiling girl with the big heart who isn’t scared to use it again in the quest for love.

I-dont-even-want-a-boyfriend

so as i sit here enjoying cereal with a pinot grigio back for dinner (again), i can’t help but to be proud of myself. i’m halfway through 2015 with most of my dignity intact and a zest for life and dating and the idea that my Mr. Right might actually be out there.

so thank you, my magnificent seven for helping me get back on track. but mostly for the dildo because it can be cold and lonely in this big, bad world.

californication

16 Nov

sh*tballs.  i can’t believe its only 11 days away from the ole birthday.  when the last one stared me in the face, i was surrounded by strippers! just kidding aunt nancy. hey, everyone else: it’s kinda true about to begin a new decade and end a two-year relationship. weirdly, i was optimistic.  giddy even.  change is f*cked up and scary and did i mention f*cked up? but it’s also trés invigorating.  i liken it to eating at a delicious, exotic restaurant that all of a sudden-like you notice has a B health safety rating.  that warm feeling in your tummy could signal either wonderful food satiation OR an epic case of impending sharts salmonella…and only time will tell you which one it’s gonna be.

11 months and three weeks later, the poker dealer of life has shown his cards. and he had a full house whereas i got a hand akin to a long episode of watery diarrhea without the resulting skinniness.  uh yeah.

to be brutally pathetic honest…i think the hardest thing about entering this new age number thingy is that i’m doing it single.

Single-women-love-their-cats_large

maybe it has something to do with the fact that i recently found out that the ex has moved on before me (translation:  i should be the first one to find someone else because i’m clearly a vindictive b*tch  the better person).

don’t get me wrong, i haven’t been a nun…although black and white is very slimming on me. i’ve had periodic bouts where i feel like i’m living an episode of californication and i’m a slightly milder, less drunk/snort white powder off a slutty girl’s a$$ version of david duchovony (again, just kidding work/family members/any nuns that might be reading this).

tumblr_m7f0w3GDU11ryj1i7o1_500

and then there was the time when even allowed myself to feel a little bit of the feelings except it wasn’t related to buying shoes but was actually connected to a living, breathing human male person which was weird and horrible and strange and stuff.  and i’m a freakishly independent lady who likes to be her own boss (translation: i need to have the freedom to binge-watch gilmore girls in my pjs while i eat bacon pizza without judgement or interruption).  and i’ve never needed a man to define my worth cuz i can look at my bank account all by myself and see that i’m worth at least $186.78 once my rent check clears.

funnytextsingleladies

when i share with my friends about my frustration in my search for mr. right, they usually respond with a sweet, “just focus / work on you”.  and it’s that advice that makes me become a raving lunatic (translation: even more of a raving lunatic than usual).  that’s because for a long time i’ve worked on me. i’ve done A LOT of work, and i continue to do the work.

no-boyf

and while i’m far from perfect, i’m pretty proud of the girl that i see in the mirror.  she works hard.  she loves hard.  she’s honest and sometimes brave and usually kind (unless you go by ‘mrs. clooney’).  she doesn’t rob banks or shoot up heroin or eat delicious donuts far too often (there might be one lie buried in this sentence…so much for honesty!).  but i fear that if i continue to look too long and hard on “me” i’ll become a selfish c*nt.

yes, i’m prone to be excessively hard on myself and like to get all judgey-pants on my perceived poor progress on achieving level:beyonce. but when i really think about it, i have a lot to be proud of this year and beyond and even more to share with george clooney the right person.  i mean, when i come up with funny/dirty puns or trip over my own feet yet manage to not break an appendage or find my way to somewhere without my gps, i wanna share it with a hunky, shirtless man with a big d*ck heart who finds it endearing that i’m such a spaz. is that too much to ask?

funny-inspirational-quote

so i’m putting out in the universe via blog because i’m 100% sure that whomever is in charge of destiny TOTES reads livin la vida coco, duh.  so here it goes: i’m ready.  my abs still suck and i still behind on my laundry and let’s not talk about my need for a pedicure…but i’m ready if you are. sweet, wonderful, sexy, non-convict* you!

and since it’s FINALLY cute boot weather here in LA, this means you won’t have to see my ratchet toenails, mr right.  a coincidence?  i think not.  thanks, universe!  let’s do this thang!

—-

* but if you’re this hot convict, i’ll make a ‘no-convict” exception.  also, pls excuse all the penal jokes in advance.

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!!!

iNa8w1

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.

tumblr_inline_mo1yv36cbF1qz4rgp

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).

beyonce

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.

Mindy-Kaling-017-07302013

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:

photo (14)

and if it happens to be in front of a crowd, hopefully folks won’t walk out before i’m done…

xoxo

put the lotion in the basket

10 Feb

happy february, y’all!   since 2014 seems to be flying by faster than an eight-ball in rob ford’s pocket, I’VE GOT TO DO THINGS, PEOPLE!  for some reason i’ve been all obsessive about my 2014 resolutions and who cares if they’re totally silly or unrealistic or expensive or require self-disciple or george clooney’s address/gate code.  but since i’m starting the new year as a single gal (yeah, we’re really not ready to talk about this right now….i can, however, report that i’ve completed the “watch an excessive amount of felicity episodes while i eat donuts and ugly sob-cry when i hear any katy perry song” phase and have emerged into the far healthier “i gotta stop eating donuts for dinner get single-vindictive-hot-skinny and i’m almost at peace with realizing i have to comb my hair and wear real pants when i leave the house again and i’m totally NOT gonna say stupid things to hot guys and NO MORE musicians for f*cks sake” era.

images (7)

and i don’t mean to brag, y’all…but i’ve gone 3 WHOLE days without that powdery sugary fried dough goodness, i’ve shaved my legs TWICE in one week, and  i’ve stopped talking about my cat in mixed company.  f*ck yeah,  coco!  and yes, well, there may have been that time my friends had to practically sit on me when i started picking out my wedding china making drunk eyes at a drummer-person who freakishly looked like the ex.  and fine…i might have talked to him about my cat’s litter preferences and my razor burn.  oh well, rome wasn’t built in a day.

so now that i’ve got more time on my hands since i’m done watching all four seasons of felicity back in the mix, i’m carpeing that f*cking diem and doing all those things i’ve always wanted to do.  for example, guess who’s going to get heat stroke among 12-year olds in the desert with bands i’ve never heard of coachella for the first time????! and you know who’s decided she’s going to produce her first short documentary??!  and guess who’s gonna start taking sax lessons again?

(oh by the way, the answer to all of the above is ‘coco’ 🙂

you see, 2014 is all about making sh*t happen.  scary sh*t.  epic sh*t.

things like losing my korean spa virginity.

images (9)

as an advanced-level Angeleno-in Training, i should be far more adept in all-things Koreatown at this point.  however, i’ve largely neglected this part of the syllabus, turning my attention to the easy, sleezy breezy beach towns  of west side LA.  i mean, now that i’ve mastered beach curls without burning my face off, it makes complete sense.  but no more.  now i’m obsessed with taking koreatown by the short and curlies and getting all up in its awesome korean grill.

and the first order of business was facing the ever-scary korean spa.

going to the spa shouldn’t fill someone with dread and fear.  but this is coco we’re talking about.  the girl who falls over a lot. the lass who was voted “most likely to inadvertently start an international incident”. a gal who has the propensity to do dumb sh*t at exactly the worst possible moment.

so going into a place with hot steam and rocks and weird elixers and foreign languages and general, hardcore asian realnus seemed like a recipe for coco disaster.  i’m not sure anyone’s ever been blackballed from koreatown, but i’m sure i’ve got the stuff to be the first.  but because 2014 is about throwing common sense caution to the wind, i decided to let my friends peer-pressure convince me to face my spa-fears.

images (8)

thanks to a groupon, my girl N and i got ourselves a tasty deal at this well-reviewed spa.  and after spending 2,345 hours trying to figure out how to download the groupon from my phone because i’m clearly 134 years-old, we made our way to the inner depths of the spa.  And as i took it all in, i played it totally cool. And by cool, i’m sure i looked like my mom when i take her to bad parts of the big city.

mouthagape

miss jay impersonating miss coco

and then there was the whole, awkward, “do i leave my underwear on” conversation.  thankfully my girl N is level:korean spa expert AND she has the patience of the entire city of toronto, ergo she seemed unfazed by my general stupidity and unfettered obnoxious nervous laughter/ yelps/ cries/ whoopsidaisies.  she calmly told me to keep my knickers on if i so desired, shared when i should and shouldn’t wear my robe, showed me where to lie (or more importantly where not to lie), how to not hyperventilate in the MARS HOT ROOMS, and to eschew those so-last-year gangnam-style jokes.  it actually was a pleasant experience and i made it through all the steps (we never found step 2 but i think it’s because it’s god’s way of making sure i’m less linear) without serious incident.  i even found a rogue pube during step 4 and calmly handled the incident without screaming like nathan lane in birdcage fanfare. and while my korean language knowledge is limited two words (kimchee and sojuu), i’m pretty sure i never heard anyone say, “put the lotion in the basket”.  how do you say, “winning” in korean?

————–

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

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.

Image

last year’s globes awesomeness

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

matthew-mcconaughey-logo (1)

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).

Image

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!

Image

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.

images (4)

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

6 Jun

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 turned in my welfare queen tiara 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.

1313166115543751

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.

Image

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:

leno anc coco

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.

Screen Shot 2013-06-06 at 8.03.59 PM

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!

%d bloggers like this: