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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?!

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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?

WWDJD aka what would derek jeter do?

6 Jul

happy july, people!  do you know if groupon’s offering a liver + skin transplant two-fer anywhere, cuz, like, i might be dying.  and i’m not sure if you can get cirrhosis of the entire body, but i’m pretty certain that’s exactly what’s going on.  and let’s not talk about the REALLY weird orifices that i managed to sunburn.  and HEY, HOUSE, YOU’RE A D*CK STOP SPINNING!

so as you’ve likely gathered, i was either a) invited to a lohan family bbq or b) actually left los angeles for TWO WHOLE DAYS AND MY FREAKISHLY PALE BODY SAW SUNSHINE AND I ONLY CHECKED WORK EMAIL ONCE AND I WENT ON A BOAT AND OMG I DRANK ALL THE ALCOHOLS AND DID I MENTION I LEFT LA FOR LIKE AN ENTIRE FREAKIN WEEKEND?!!!

after last year’s 4th of july ebola outbreak, i wasn’t gonna let anything get in my way of enjoying a long weekend in a place that wasn’t my apartment.  and if that meant free-basing emergen-C and mainlining allergy medicine while i snorted ground-up vitamins, so be it. so when i woke up butt-early this friday and i was actually (over-)packed, the car actually had more than three teaspoons of gas, and i didn’t have the bubonic plague or tuberculosis, i could help but to high-five myself for being ready for my mini-vacay.

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you see, my girl B and her fam have this place by a lake in a far away place i’ve never heard of and she was silly nice enough to invite coco to join in their annual 4th festivities.  and because i haven’t been on a trip since the industrial revolution and since the last 6 months can suck my right nut, i was more than stoked to get away.  and when she said something about “fast boats” and “LOTS OF BEER” i’m pretty sure a singular tear fell down my cheek and i hugged her for an inappropriately long time.

it was a four-hour trek to the lake house that included 1,230 pee breaks, 50 hundred billion espresso drinks (note aforementioned pee breaks), 1 gas stop, and the realization that if i’m ever feeling bad about myself, i should just spend 5 minutes oogling the really weird people who frequent rest stops. when i finally rendezvous’d with everyone up there, i might have been so excited i nearly drove over a curb because i’m an a$$hole a big believer in making a memorable entrance.

everyone on the trip was super nice and young and skinny and hot and tan and not-awkward. basically the search results of when you google, “coco, antonym”.  but since i brought booze and didn’t do anything too stupid in the first 60 seconds, they let the weirdo who just kept gleefully muttering “boats and beer” and apparently wore cute inappropriate boat shoes hang with them.  and for that, i’m so very surprised grateful.

but while it may have appeared to be nirvana for the coco upon first blush, there were two BIG problems:

1) there were LOTS of activities that required hand-eye coordination/not falling over.

So while i was busy obsessing over the “beer” and “boats” part, i guess i missed the whole part when my girl B talked about all the water skiing and swimming and volleyball and wiffle ball and beer pong and corn hole and… since i have the athletic prowess of carol channing and i’m as outdoorsy as the olsen twins, i was faced with showing a large number of awesome people how NOT to do sporty things.

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these people could waterboard behind the boat like they were in the olympics…all the while, i couldn’t even sit on the boat without incident.  i found myself squealing every time (a) the cold lake water splashed on me (because nature and non-chlorinated water is scary!), (b) we hit any type of wave (because waves are scary!), and/or (c) we had to walk more than 2 feet on the boat (because walking is scary!).  i recused myself from the volleyball matches later and instead challenged myself in a solo game of “drink as many beers as possible then go throw yourself on (and subsequently break) the kids slip-n-slide”, which i clearly won. after that, i caught exactly zero balls while playing wiffle ball (but did manage to surreptitiously drink someone else’s delicious margarita in-between missing every play).  and i’m pretty sure i’m the first person in their beer pong tournament history who was thrown off a team for being the worst ever.  but they let me stay all weekend and be awkward, un-athletic me and for that, i’ll be forever grateful.

coco playing wiffle ball

coco playing wiffle ball

2) we were being hosted by my baseball nemesis.

i forgot to mention that my girl B’s dad is a retired MLB player who i grew up loathing.  he played for not one BUT TWO OF MY LEAST FAVORITE TEAMS EVER UGH GROSS.  and as a girl who was practically born wearing the yankee pinstripes, i was pretty sure my aunt ellie might disown me if she found out i was under the same roof as our enemy.  so i was torn..the promise of boats and beer vs my yankee pride.  what to do?!  i could shank him in his throwing arm then spray paint ‘BRONX ZOO RULEZ’ all over his boat as i scream-sing New York New York.  or i could take this lil girl’s approach.  but both seemed a bit extreme (can you tell i’ve softened up after being away from NY?).  i was conflicted.  confused.  lost.  so i did what i often do…i asked myself, “WWDJD: What Would Derek Jeter Do? ”

derek-derek-jeter-13622677-499-488

ask and you shall receive. i called up to God…aka derek, and said, “hey derek, can you help a coco out?!” and that sexy Jeter voice called down to me through my 6-beer haze and said, “hey girl.  drink all his delicious wine that appears to be A LOT nicer than your usual charles shaw, smoke all his delicious cigars, relentlessly tease him about his love of smooth jazz, and make sure he’s forced to be on your wiffle ball team.” ah yes, derek.  this was a perfect plot, indeed.  revenge is a dish best served with a lot of really nice free wine.  poor guy.  GO YANKEES!

so now that i’ve had my fill of wine and cigars and smooth jazz and boats and beer and being around really amazing people, i’m ready to pass out until wednesday then check myself into cedars for a blood transfusion. hashtag the struggle is real.  hope y’all had a great 4th!

xoxo

loverboy

24 Aug

coco slept only five hours.  my toilet decided to stop working last night, whereas my bladder did not.  i read this and want to track down this poor lil kid’s parents and punch them in the throat (thankfully for them i’m a pacifist and have curiously small hands).  my recently purchased back-up underwear stash has already been depleted, whereas my laundry strike remains firmly in place.  i feel fat. there’s gonna be another cyrus in the world.   i think my cat is mad at me. i feel super guilty for eating all of the cheez-its and rice-crispy treats out of the earthquake kit that taunts me sits under my desk…and more importantly, i live in constant fear that my office manager will somehow find out.

so while all of the above may lead you to believe that i’m in a bad mood, coco is actually happy as a clam (deep thought…are clams really that happy?).  that’s because i’m taking friday off! friday Friday FRIDAY!   counting on my fingers and toes, it appears that means a 72-hour weekend for the coco. that’s a lot of hours, yo.  and there’s been talk of a trip to vancouver, canadialand to stalk bryan adams see nature and stuff.  or maybe a jaunt to malibu where i can watch surfers be hot surf?  perchance i can brunch in the OC with one-fourth of the palms springs posse?  regardless, i will get a much-needed break from concept note writing, 6:30 am conference calls, spreadsheets and my “i see dead people” temperatured office.

so until then, i’ll be doing EXACTLY what EVERYBODY’S doing per the best thing that EVER came out of canadialand (take note, celine!)

[song and red leather a$$ shakin starts at about–‘about’ said in the creepy canadialand way–the 2:20 mark]

happy almost weekend, y’all!

perfect ten

19 Aug

oh my stars and garters, what a week!  between fighting the baby aids via conference calls and spreadsheets and the unplanned tequila binges and obsessively checking to see if suri’s burn book has a new post, coco is TI-RED (note: ‘tired’ should be read with a southern diphthong for the correct effect as being dramatic is much more fun as a pretend southerner).

as such, i’m not sure i have it in me to bring you this week’s future ex-husband friday, but here’s a lil somethin-somethin to tide you over as i escape into the wine rack weekend:

1.) tara reid got married.

i choose to view this watershed event as god’s way of saying, “hey, coco….there’s still hope for you!”

2.) the palm springs posse is reuniting  in hollywood this weekend.  residents and hospitals within the TMZ…you have been warned.

3.) call guiness… i went on a date.  like a real one…with a real boy.   and he had a car and a job and a pleasant personality.  and there were tattoos.

4. i saw andie macdowell at happy hour last friday.

while i’m pretty sure she didn’t see me back, i just know we’re going to be best friends forever.

5.) laundry has reached epic proportions.  help.

6.) one of my coworkers is convinced i’m the ghost writer behind suri’s burn book.

Straight from Suri Cruise's burn book: "Oh, Zahara! Let’s be best friends. I made that exact same face when I saw your sister today. Twice in one week would be excessive for any item of clothing, let alone that ridiculous vest. And doesn’t she know that opening her mouth in public like that is how you get bird flu? Gross".

hey nobel prize people…you can can go shove it, because that may be the bestest honor i could ever have bestowed upon me, amen. but sadly, it’s not me.

or is it? muhahahahahah!

7.) it’s john stamos’ 48th birthday today.

and trust…i’d still hit it!

8.) need a cuteness overload?  see this immediately: http://www.metro.co.uk/weird/872765-is-this-the-cutest-picture-ever-cat-and-baby-deer-become-best-of-friends

but can you handle the cute?!

9.) k-fed had his fifth child this week. yes, fifth…

and strangely, none of them came from his stomach.  since i have none, i’m hoping he’ll give me one…and fingers crossed it’s one from the britney litter.

10.) i’ve finally narrowed down my drag queen name choices to a) jane fondle or b) hillary wank.  gotta love progress!

happy friday, party people!

the hangover (with more coco and less mike tyson)

5 Jul

i’m writing this blog from the safety the comfort of my own bed.  after the one-two punch of my laguna beach + palm springs roadtrip this weekend, i’m relieved that i made it home alive. and while my liver, self-respect and bank account still have the bed spins, coco is super happy. i’m guessing the local liquor store merchants along our route are too.

it’s important to note that my 72-hour laguna/palm springs sojourn could have gone horribly wrong. first, my pale and lumpy body hasn’t seen sunlight since 2006…and it was about to spend an entire weekend in 118 degree heat by a pool.  secondly, we were staying at hipster mecca…which meant i’d have to fit in among hundreds of hipsters and their PBR-drinking, fedora hat-wearing, rayban wayfarer-donning ways.  and since i fall over a lot, discovered vampire weekend way too late, and am completely at peace with liking mainstream things, being cool sympatico with the idies was going to be tough.  lastly, i was traveling with super fun people who can drink more than 2 adult beverages without requiring an IV infusion the next day…and they had outfitted the trunk with the makings of a full bar (or what i call ‘a likely trip to the ER for alcohol poisoning’).

since recounting the entire trip could lead to criminal charges  be lengthy, i’ll just focus on the top 5 legal awesome things about my first real vacation in a really really long time.

5) guys with beards. 

everywhere we went, we were surrounded by men with crazy-a$$ beards.  we sought to talk, drink and/or dance with every single fuzzy faced man with which we rubbed shoulders.  one of us may have even kissed a bearded boy (the identities of both parties will not be revealed, but one of their names may have rhymed with ‘loco’). thank you, bearded men for being a source of epic entertainment.

4) the eagle.

staying in palm springs is like being in a david lynch film.  it’s weird, entertaining, and, well, weird.  and every film needs a soundtrack.  we inadvertently chose the local classic rock station as ours.  dubbed “the eagle”, the station was never NOT playing in our room.  the juxtaposition of mid-century furniture, the mars-like landscapes outside our window, and the controlled chaos that occurs when 4 people share a hotel room somehow combined beautifully with bruce springsteen and credence clearwater revival.  kinda like how tater tots and expensive chardonnay are a surprisingly amazing pairing (long story).

plus

equals

AWESOME.

thank you, the eagle, for inspiring us to spread eagle spread our wings and soar to vacation epic-ness.

3) straight loca barbie. 

a picture speaks a thousand words. thank you, straight loca barbie.

2) sunblock. 

we all somehow emerged from multiple days of blistering sun without looking like donatella versace.

and while i’m convinced the vodka had some sort of mysterious sun-blocking properties (i’ve alerted the national institutes of health), it’s possible that the SPF 70 sunscreen that i applied every 38 seconds actually did its job.  thank you, sunscreen, for ensuring that i continue to look like this:

and not this:

1) linda gerard!

if you look up FABULOUS in the dictionary, you’ll see a picture of linda gerard.  linda is ace hotel’s ace up its sleeve.  her perfectly lined lips, exquisite scarfs and over-sized dynasty glasses are only but a few things that make her the most amazing woman in the wholewideworld.

linda’s job is to entertain ace hotel’s diners.  and boy does she bring it. imagine if lucille ball and rupaul had a lovechild…

(i’ll give you a few seconds…..)

linda does not need an ornate stage or complex lighting and sound.  instead, linda announces to the dining room that something life-changing is about to occur with the use of a bell.  she then then launches into an accapella rendition of a showtune or some other standard, which sends her fans into a frenzy. her voice is like butter.  her act is perfection.  her divaness is epic. eat your heart out, broadway.

thank you, linda for reminding me that fabulosity is always in style.

——————-

well, better sign off so i can run to rite aid for some tylenol, a lipliner and an Eagles CD.  hope y’all had a faboosh 4th of july! xoxo

——————-

for adam, ariella, doug and straight loca barbie

dear silly frat guy…

8 Sep

dear silly frat guy

clearly drunk and possibly high

trying to drop trow in my hood

peeing in public you wished you could

but hells no not on my street

cuz walking in urine isn’t a treat

really…in front of my face?

please go find a better place

so if i see you again whizzing al fresco

you best not argue with the coco

cuz i’ll record you mid-pee

and post it on youtube and tmz!

i heart huckabee

11 Feb

squirrels are evil.

many moons ago i decided to splurge on a happy meal and dine al fresco in washington, dc’s lafayette park. and while i didn’t want to soil my dress barn powersuit, the grass under the huge oak tree beckoned me. almost immediately a sweet, curious squirrel began flirting with me and my french fries. too cute to ignore, i’d throw him a fry and watch the lil guy eat it with delight. he’d come back begging for more, and i’d happily offer another piece. i thought to myself, “how wonderful to enjoy nature in the middle of the city!”

that is until i ran out of french fries. my little squirrel friend began to pace back and forth, then let out a creepy squirrel chirp as if to warn me that he was gonna put a cap in my a$$. after 5 minutes of this, he decided that he had no choice but to assume attack position and growl. yes, growl. it appeared that even dc’s vermin were gansta. seeing my life flash before my eyes, i swiftly threw the rest of my cheeseburger at him and ran like my life depended on it.

ever since i was almost murdered by a squirrel on that summer day, i fear parks, wooded areas, and places with large stores of nuts. hoping i’d be able to leave this chapter behind when i moved to l.a., it appears that the little rats with fluffy tails have infiltrated california too. crap.

however, today i feel a little safer knowing that presidential candidate mike huckabee is out there. ok, so he’s pro-life and anti-everything-i-believe-in…the guy will keep me safe. armed with only a b.b. gun and a popcorn popper, governor huckabee is clearly the best candidate to combat the biggest threat to national security. indeed, a vote for him is a vote against coco terror.

and this, y’all, is why i now heart huckabee.

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