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yeah dating is cool…but have you ever had stuffed crust pizza?

9 Mar

hi, y’all! so what’s up with my looong-a$$ writing hiatus, huh?!!  i wish i had a good excuse like “hey i was supes busy stopping ebola and/or bill cosby”…but it’s nothing that noble.  instead, i’ve been busying myself with some narcissistic self-improvement/creative/dope-a$$ ish that was carefully curated on my extremely important 2015 new year’s resolution list (aka all the crap that i won’t actually do because i have the follow-thru of an ADHD chihuahua i’m WAY too busy).  like, for example…i don’t mean to brag, but i wrote a very special piece about life and relationships and other ridiculous things that i submitted to the LA Times’ column “LA Affairs” in january…but since it’s been 2 months, 23 days, and 6 hours since i hit the “send” button (i mean who’s counting?!) and after checking my inbox and junk mail 1,249 times for a response to no avail, i’m gonna assume that my inclusion of such references as (1) delicious ramen (2) my deep disdain for drummers, and (3) a supreme admiration for vibrators might have been a touch too “next level” for the Times.

Oh and i’ve been really busy trying to figure out how to date.

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Dating at age redacted is beyond weird no matter where you live. But doing so in Hollywood when you’re not a victoria secret model is THE WORST at best…and utterly soul-crushing at worst.  gone are the good-ole days where boy meets girl, girl falls in love with boy, boy gives her a 10-carat cartier diamond and boy and girl live happily ever after in the palisades after a few stints at betty ford (oh, and in this aforementioned scenario the boy is george clooney, duh).  instead, if you’re a single gal in LA you have to tinder and match.com and plenty of fish and wear pants not look like a shut-in crazy lady when you go to the fancy grocery store in your neighborhood and try not to fall down/talk to yourself and deal with your real fear of being abducted by your date and waking up in a tub in an undisclosed location somewhere in the valley less a kidney and pay for a gym membership that costs as much as your rent while you wear enough makeup to look not like an extra on ‘the walking dead’ but not too much where it looks like you’re a basic b*tch trying/care and pretend to be easy breezy beautiful cover girl when in fact you are neurotic bundle of weirdness loosely contained by rapidly aging skin that you now have to care about and shave your legs (all of them) which means buying razor blades which are freakishly expensive and consult your astrologist for sun sign and rising sign compatibility and date actors/doormen/musicians/other sundry poor people who are prettier than you (and know it, giving them the total f*cking upper hand) and pretend to like hiking + juice bars + quentin tarantino and answer stupid questions like, ‘omg you are perfect why are you single” when clearly you aren’t perfect because they don’t call you back after the second date.

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it’s all this bullsh*t complexity that’s led me to oscillate between a) embracing the utter hilarity of dating weirdos in a weird town at a weird age in a weird time in my life and not giving any of the f*cks and b) espousing the life of a shut-in while i watch gilmore girls (again) and order flat round carbs covered in delicious meat and cheese while i talk to my ex’s cat about how dying alone can’t be half bad except for the haunting question of “who will delete our porn gilmore girls fun facts search history?”

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stay tuned for the rest of 2015 while the above-mentioned two realities wage war in “livin la vida coco.’  will she actually wear yoga pants AND actually go to yoga?  does she like her date enough to actually consider shaving ABOVE THE KNEE?   will she actually order a veggie pizza for once (who are we kidding…I NEED THE F*CKING BACON DAMMIT!)? will she avoid “that’s what she said” jokes until the 3rd date? you will just have to watch this space…

Just like i’m watching the white space on my ceiling while i wait for that hot guy at whole foods who weirdly just asked for my number even though i looked like i had just rolled out of bed (because i totally had) and might have had pizza crumbs on me and definitely was buying only wine and really expensive hippy toilet paper…

————–

P.S.

Amy Schumer for President!

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!!!

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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.

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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).

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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.

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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:

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

xoxo

did you know that true love asks for nothing?

18 Jun

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.

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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.

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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.

 

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.

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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.

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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.

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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!

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

22 Aug

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

2 Aug

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

or i could just force myself to write.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

happy thursday, y’all!

(i’m such an) a$$ a$$ a$$ a$$ a$$ a$$ a$$

15 Jun

i interrupt today’s regularly scheduled FUTURE EX-HUSBAND FRIDAY programming to bring you what could be coco’s most embarrassing moment. and you should realize the list of “coco’s most embarrassing moments” is both REALLY long and impressive. and even more ridiculous astonishing? said catalog of foibles is exclusive of the “coco’s most embarrassing moments while drinking” list. in aggregate, they would make “war and peace” look like a quick read.

adding to ‘coco’s list of embarrassing moments”

and it all started with a harmless monday night trip to target.

after my OCD-cleaning fest earlier in the day, i depleted all products that contained bleach in my home (and i might have depleted the contents of my wine rack at the same time). i also needed a myriad o’ toiletries (and might have gone two days without using deodorant). lastly, the cat was less-than-happy with her litter situation and was making her dissatisfaction with her pooping accommodations clearly known. this trifecta of need forced me to make an unscheduled trip to that red-and-white place that overwhelms my senses and, often, my pocketbook.

at least the creepy target lady from those xmas-time ads makes me feel normal in comparison

my target trip started off great. i only bumped into display stands twice and avoided buying any of the cute summer dresses they so ungraciously tempted me with. but i did go off my list and found myself in the microwave oven section. i might be the only american who’s lived without a microwave for longer than 30 seconds. in fact, i’ve cooked things the olde-fashioned way for more than 3 years and have somehow lived to tell the tale. but now that i’m on a tight budget and forced to actually eat leftovers (sadface), i figured having a microwave may save me some money down the road.

i was met with a bevy of microwave oven choices and the resulting feeling of being overwhelmed and under-informed. they had confusing things like “cu ft” and “power output watts” and “convection” and other things listed on the boxes that hurt my pretty head. i could hear that there were others in the aisle equally confused as to what they should buy. that’s when noticed that they were two older, sweet NUNS who were very animated in their microwave-decision ’12 discussions. so, of course i decided to walk over and rudely insert myself join their microwave debate. i mean, I AM CATHOLIC (well, on paper, at least) and they seemed really nice and they might have some good insight since they are pretty close with the big guy upstairs, right?!

the nuns told me that they already bought one but they returned it because it was too big (and i was really really REALLY amazed proud that i didn’t say my requisite, “that’s what she said” or “size matters”.) they were now trying to figure out what size would work best for them (still kicking myself…don’t say it coco!). i showed them the microwave i liked but said i needed to do some research before i bought it. they worried that i may miss out on it as there weren’t many in stock. i told them that i could do my research right then and there with my iPhone, and offered to look something up for them.

as i pulled out my phone and opened up safari, this picture of big sean popped up on my screen (minus the strategically placed red box)…

i figured big sean would be a mac guy…

thankfully, i somehow acquired momentary ninja skillz and, in a nano-second, pulled the phone away from the poor Sisters’ eyes before the picture fully loaded.

i don’t think these sweet women of the cloth noticed the picture of big sean’s junk, and we went on with our microwave discussions unfettered. well, they were unfettered. i, on the other hand, proceeded to sweat profusely and turn red like a beet. after a bit more small talk, they decided it was late, and that they’d come back tomorrow to buy their new appliance. and i decided that i was officially going to hell.

the good news? i got the microwave (which ironically just happened to be the smallest one in the store) and now lovingly refer to it “big sean”.

hope y’all have a big weekend!

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