i wish i was doing this right about now…

but while y’all are basking in the sun and wearing your white pants for the first time in 2012 (please tell me it’s the first time???), i’ve put myself on fun-restriction today so i can look for a job.  which means i’ve read every blog i can think of, made six shots of espresso (OMGISOWANTTOTYPEINALLCAPSRIGHTNOWOMG!!!!), and watched eight two episodes of “say yes to the dress” (don’t judge).  and then coco finally, actually, truly applied for a job…

and it was for a writing job! for a celebrity media publisher! OMGISOWANTTOTYPEINALLCAPSRIGHTNOWOMG!!!!

and how does one do this? well, i have no idea, really.  so i decided to write the world’s most ridiculous cover letter (see below…and disregard the parts where i’m kinda sounding like a braggart…puke). you see, i figured if i’m gonna get a writing job with a resume that SCREAMS ‘public health person’, my cover letter better grab the person in a “throw ‘em on a bar stool and do a lap-dance to a ridiculously bad-a$$ song like this” kinda way if i’m gonna have a shot.

and while such letters will likely get me fired before i’m even hired, i figured i needed to harness all my inner-summertramp and give it to ‘em good.

so potential job….it’s official. you’ve been…

THUNDERSTRUCK!!!

———

dear potential employer-person,

hi! you’re probably sitting at a pool right now, drinking a beverage with something muddled in it. or perhaps it has chiffonade basil in it? i don’t really know what “chiffonade” means, other than if it’s mentioned on the cocktail menu, you’re paying at least $15 bucks for it.

i, on the other hand, am looking for a writing job, and will avoid the adult beverages until at least 4 pm. well, that’s the plan.

so here’s the pitch part…i’m an awesome writer. at least my friends tell me that. i’m sure my mom would, too, but i don’t let her read my stuff. i’ve been blogging for six years about my misadventures in hollywood, and love, love, LOVE a good story.

this is the part where you hopefully visit my blog: www.livinlavidacoco.com

as you can probably tell from my site, i’m kinda in love with hollywood, it’s starlets, and all the fabulosity/disfunction/DUIs/nips and tucks/glamor. i wake up in the morning and my first two stops on the innerwebs are tmz.com and dlisted.com…and am in love with suri’s burn book. and every time i hear a helicopter overhead, i wonder what big-named celeb messed up now. it’s a good life.

here’s the deal…you’ll open my resume and likely scratch your head and say, “this gal is a public health wonk”. and you know what, i kinda am. the thing is, i’ve done a ridiculous amount of writing in these jobs, from super technical pieces about malaria to ghost writing for desmond tutu. and every boss i’ve had says i need (yup, “NEED”) to be a professional writer. and i’m finally listening to them and am ready to do this.

so if you are piqued, let’s meet and see if we’re a good fit. i’m right down the street and super excited to get my write on. and to see what happens to amanda bynes over a long weekend.

cheers,
coco

———-

* i caved on my shopping restriction and bought a new bikini on thursday.  it wasn’t my fault…it was totally on sale and looked almost good on my translucent, zombie-esque skin.  damn you, shopping restriction!

-writer, mom, and bazillionaire JK Rowling

================

i’m not sure if i’ve hit that place lindsay lohan and my neighbor in 2B would call “rock bottom”/otherwise known as “home sweet home”…but i’ve definitely hit some gravelly patches of late. i guess it’s because today marks my three month anniversary of being laid off from my job.

it’s been an interesting journey that started with a lot of optimism and cool creative outlets (i mean, this is LA). i truly enjoyed the first month or so, as i was supes busy helping to produce a short documentary. it was fun and boundary-pushing, and the work gave me structure. and most importantly, it kept me out of the bars and away from shoe shopping (well, most of the time). i also spent march reveling in the crazy concept of not having to set my alarm at 6 am, the notion of getting in shape like the rest of the under-employed pretty people of los angeles, and being able to write in coffee shops all day while ogling at the aforementioned pretty people. of course, i sucked at the getting in shape part and was pretty non-prolific in the writing department…but i TOTALLY excelled at the “not waking up at 6 am” thang.

and to be honest, i don’t even remember much of month two as i was in the throws of acting and producing a play…between remembering my lines AND attempting to play a tambourine in front of the guy i’m somehow still dating who just happens to be a ridiculously talented percussionist and when i have the grace and rhythm of this guy AND running lights in act two AND being in charge of PR AND trying really hard not to suck on stage, i barely had enough energy to order an extra-strong gin and tonic at the end of the night. and when i wasn’t playing on stage, i was nesting in my new apartment and obsessing over window treatments, lighting, and anything of-or-related to west elm and/or etsy. and most notable…i almost got on top of my laundry. almost. oh, and i had a few promising job interviews.

and then there was month three. that’s when it started to feel real. like “for real” real. the worry. the fear. the frequent trips to the wine rack. and those promising job interviews in month 2? they failed to yield gainful employment. the play ended (and thankfully, for the audience, so did my tambourine-playing). and as i feared…my laundry refused to wash and dry itself.

as i enter month four of being a ward of the state, my angst is on par with a morrissey song (interestingly, it’s his birthday today…happy freakin birthday, moz!).

this gal who invested her most of her heart and adult life in a career that seeks to help others feels largely helpless. and while listening to the (500) days of summer soundtrack on repeat can’t be a good thing, i can’t help but to still feel lost. scared, really. at thirty-”cough”, i have both the intense desire to start a new career and the “crap your pants” fear of doing so. do i walk away from the 5-page resume filled with impressive things and a decade of work experience for the unknown? do i go back to school, accumulate debt and live like a student? at my age? do i try my hand at being a real writer, accumulate debt, and live like a homeless person? without designer shoes?

so over the next few weeks, i’m charging myself with putting my fears, my dreams, my aspirations out there in hopes that i’ll find clarity. throw it out to the universe so coco can find her destiny. and i think once i have a better vision of what i truly want, my heart (and liver) will worry less.

in the immortal words of morrissey….”please, please, please let me get what i want.” and the first thing i want? i want to know what exactly it is that i want. wow…zoey deschanel would be supes proud of my inner emo!

the good news? i do know one thing. i promise you that i will not…i repeat NOT…seek to become a professional tambourine player.

you’re welcome.

xoxo,

yup.  it’s my future husband GEORGE CLOONEY’S BIRTHDAY!

today, my sweet, sexy, smart, silly george…you turn 51 years-young.  and while it appears that my invite to the fancy dinner that you and barack will be hosting got lost in the mail, i know that’s not your fault…and, as such, my birthday planning shall go unfettered.

and while the amazing day i’ve planned revolves around you eating birthday cake off my body (and i hid all the utensils, just in case) in very forgiving light while we watch old ER episodes, i’m also open to suggestions to other activities.  perhaps you would prefer to eat prosciutto flown in from lake cuomo off my body in very forgiving light while we watch an Ocean’s 11 marathon?  or how about eating ice cream off your oscar body with every light on while i watch nothing but the ice cream and you? and since i know you and brad are tight, feel free to invite him over for the celebration. there’s plenty of cake and ice cream and hidden utensils for the three of us. and since you’re into handcuffs…

or heck, what about all of the above? you only turn 51 once, right?!

happy birthday, lover.  here’s to another 51 more together.

yours forever,

coco

there’s so much for us to catch up on!  where to start…where to start…where to start?!  guess it’s time to tap into my OCD do a list.  yay, lists!

1) look at me now!!!  first and foremost, i’m am so superduperfreakin stoked about la vida coco’s new look.  we’ve been working on this concept for a ridiculously long time, and after much procrastination hard work, we finally finished it.  and by “we”, i mean my ex, the animator.  while he toiled away at his computer, i just stood over him and bossed him around while i drank his wine (which was quite representative of our relationship back in the day).  and somehow, someway, he patiently listened to me and designed one of the most freaking amazing designs ever…without once telling me to go pound sand.  so thank you times a bazillion, awesome ex animator person, for making la vida coco’s design dreams come true.  and for making my boobs look kinda amazing.

2) i am THE WORST unemployed person EVER.  as you may remember from my last few posts before my blog-hiatus, i was preparing to be laid off.  well, my last day at work was february 22.  and what have i been doing during my time off? an impromptu trip to paris?  nope.  long leisurely lunch dates on rodeo drive?  i wish.  frolicking on the beach while checking out hot surfer dudes?  sadly, no. instead, i decided to move apartments.  and for those of you counting, this would be apartment five in five years.  after i was done squeezing my worldly possessions into a studio (and swearing A LOT in the process), i then found myself busy working on another project.  a dear friend asked me to help coordinate the filming of short documentary for his organization.  and what was supposed to be a simple, easy job scheduling the film crew somehow turned into  me traveling all around Los Angeles and interviewing dozens of people for the film..six days a week.  of course, while doing so, i totally thought i was channeling my inner-christiane amanpour, doing pulizer-prize winning interviews that would make katie couric so jealous. but i’m sure in reality i was more like christina “annoying” aguilera on “the voice”.

in coco's imagination

and coco's reality

so what about coco’s gainfully unemployed dreams of drinking herself into oblivion every night at hollywood’s hottest watering holes?  or her fantasies of lounging all day at a fancy pool with ridiculously hot man-children?  or that road trip to the southwest to take peyote for the first time find myself?  or most importantly, blogging every day like a true unemployed writer-person should be doing?  well, today is the first day towards doing my unemployment right. and while you may be dubious that i can truly embrace my unemployment by the “short and curlies,” i must point out that I’ve mastered the art of sleeping till noon and have watched all four seasons of felicity on netflix.  see, there is hope!

3) dating.  so i’ve been dating someone for longer than 3 seconds 3 minutes 3 days.  and i swear to saint nordstrom that he’s totally real (so please don’t mention anything to george clooney). what’s he like, you ask?  well, if i were to use three words to describe him they would be “hot” “intelligent” and “not-imaginary”.  but that’s all you’ll get out of me…i have made an oath to protect his identity at all costs.  not at his behest, but to ensure that he’s NEVER EVER tipped off by my readers that i’m extremely uncoordinated, am totally dating george clooney on the side (in my imagination), and have big plans to start a precious moments museum/feral cat colony.  the only drawback to this guy?  he lives in the far-off land called the westside that requires one to cross the 405 freeway.  while totally inconvenient, the extra time it takes for him to get here allows me to hide my numerous wedding idea scrapbooks and clear my internet search history of the following search terms “how can you tell if your cat likes him” and “precious moments storage options” and “george clooney naked.”

well, kids, time to turn off the computer and turn to that aforementioned drinking goal.  i can’t wait to talk soon.  until then, come over and visit me on facebook! yup!  i’m officially on FB now, too.  yay!

xoxo,

coco

or george clooney’s wife.  or heck…both!  and while it’ll be difficult balancing my macy’s day parade responsibilities with my clooney household thanksgiving preparations, coco is totally ready for the challenge.  that’s because the clooney-murphy mansion will be well-stocked with potent potables, kicky rockette costumes, and deviled eggs that i intend to eat off my husband’s hunky body.

but until then, i figure it’ll be good to take a moment to give thanks for all the amazeballs things in my life right now.  but my stars and garters….where to start?  my head is so chock full of great things for which i’m grateful, it’s starting to swirl.  or maybe that’s the irish whiskey…i mean coffee.

and said head swirling means only one thing: its time to detox make a list!  and boy do i looooooove to making lists.  lists are awesome.  lists speak to my moderate OCD.  and like a 5-year old, coco needs boundaries…of which lists also provide. is there anything that a list can’t do?! so with no further ado, here’s coco’s ABC’s of gratitude.

A: artistic expression…my theatre company has been my safe harbor, my artistic respite. a place where they let me sing and dance and act even thought i’m not exceptionally good at any of the above.  i am so grateful for my creative home and the people who live under its artistic roof.

B: beyonce.  thank you for reminding me that girls rule the world, that if he likes it then he should put a ring on it, and if he don’t, coco can upgrade you, upgrade you.

C: CLOONEY!!!

D: deviled eggs (see above).  i’m making some right now for tonight’s thanksgiving feast…i figured it’ll be good practice for next year’s very clooney thanksgiving.

E: espresso.  duh.

F: friends.  i am so freakin blessed with the most amazeballs friends a gal could ever have.  they have listened to me moan and groan and spew “that’s what she said” jokes ad nauseum and yet they still talk to me.  and they often ply me with wine and gossip and other necessary sustenance.  to my friends, i love each and every one of you more than you know.  for realz, yo.

G: my gays!  to all my gay friends and LA’s gay community.  thank you for allowing me to get my hag on, celebrate gaga and madonna and robyn, objectify men like it’s a job, and embrace glitter and rainbows and unicorns.

H: hulu.  my gratitude for allowing me to not have a TV and related cable bills for the past year.  this has allowed me to pump this money into my shoe budget.  grateful!!

I: inspiration.  you are ever-present, and for that…i’m am ever-so-thankful.

J: johnny depp.  duh.

K: kitty cats.  thank you for being so popular on the innernets.  lolcats, ninja kitty, caturdays…the list is endless.  yay, pussy power!

L: los angeles.  you have been my muse for 5 years and i still can’t quit you.  thank you for your sunshine and pretty people and boys in beanies and palm trees and art and coffee beans and other innumerable awesome things.  i love you long time!

M: music.  ever since i was voted most musical in the 8th grade, i can’t help but to think i’m destined to be a pop star of epic proportions.  but in the interim, i am so thankful for the inspiration that music provides…and for all my musician friends and family who give us the gift of music.

N:  nineties hip hop bands.  dear salt n peppa, biggie, tupac, SWV, arrested development, TLC, and tribe called quest, thank you for being eternally amazeballs.  thug life forever!

O: OMFG.  thank you for being the best acronym to text, IM, shout, etc.  OMFG i love you!

P: palm springs vacation.  thank you, palm springs posse for the amazeballs and much needed vacation.  however, my liver does not feel the same gratitude.

Q: quinoa.  you are delicious, yet i still have a tough time pronouncing you.  thanks for the challenge! i love a challenge!

R: robyn.  i can’t stop listening to your body talk CD.  you have been my 2011 soundtrack…and for that, i’m totes thankful.

S: shoes.  duh!

T: trials and tribulations.  2011 has been a challenging year for so many people…including myself.  but with every challenge, we have all grown stronger.  thank you, trials and tribulations, for helping me recalibrate my priorities and to appreciate the little things in life.

U: uggs.  to my 5-year old uggs.  you may smell, look a bit worse for wear, and get relegated to only the weekends…but i can’t imagine life without your fleecy goodness.

V: vodka.  god bless vodka.

W: writing.  i am so very grateful for having you in my life.  you make everything better.

X: xenu!

Y: yazmeena the cat: 2 continents, 10 homes, a few boys, and 15 years…and you still greet me at the door every night.  you are the bestest kitty in the whole wide world, amen.

Z: zonks! thank you for being a great “z” word.  i don’t use you enough in my daily lexicon, but i shall change that immediately!

and starting february 22nd, 2012 i’ll be laid off.

and here i was feeling far too franchised with the stable job and good benefits and paid-off car. now that i’ll be job-challenged, at least i have some street cred with the 99% movement.  and i’ve always wanted to buy a che guevara-shirt.  and most importantly, since my life is now imitating george clooney art, perhaps he’ll be more apt to cancel the restraining order return my emails?

so as you can imagine, it’s been a less-than-amazeballs week for me and the rest of my soon-to-be 86′d colleagues.  the mood swings have been more erratic than britney circa 2007-8.  the hangovers…epic.  the use of words that even truck drivers would blush at…impressive. and the sense of loss…perhaps almost as great as kris kardashian humphries’ back account heart right about now.

while public health types are driven by the need to heal others, we’re exceptionally bad at healing ourselves. and since we’re doing god’s work for peanuts and have a lot of education and are totally better than our for-profit friends and drive crappy cars and can talk about body fluids without blushing, we like to believe that we are indispensable. but alas, like a hugh hefner girlfriend, we are all replaceable.

a bunch of us with the pink skips were remarking that it’s been more difficult than we expected.  and that’s when someone started talking about seven stages of grief.  while i started to roll my eyes, i actually realized that coco’s invented her own version of the 7 stages. they’re something like this:

stage one: shock and return those cute, new boots. as most (including me) assumed i wouldn’t be impacted by the layoffs, this turn of events was more shocking than the fact that i actually did laundry last weekend. and those cute, non-public-health-professional-priced boots that i bought a few days before the pink slip?  yup, those had to go back to the store.  which of course, lead me to stage two.

stage two: pain and pinot grigio.  dear producers of pinot grigio, pinot gris, and other similar varietals.  please consider donating product to la vida coco.  at the rate i’m going through the stuff, i feel as though you should consider giving back to a worthy cause…me.  and as a thank you, i’ll totally give you product placement that will be very visible to my four many readers.

stage three: anger and dance party!  thankfully, my irish temper flared up right around the time of my friend’s birthday-cum-halloween party. this allowed me to look trampy wear a costume, drink A LOT of champagne with some of my favorite gays, and dance my a$$ off.  there’s no better antidote to feeling P.O.’d than wearing a wig and dancing to kylie minogue while you molest flirt with the straight waiter.  and note to self…when security asks you to get off the go-go dancer’s podium, you should comply. immediately.

stage four: depression and tater-tot addiction. i refuse to admit that there might have been a few nights where i put my pjs on at 6 pm, watched old buffy the vampire slayer episodes, ate an entire bag of tater tots and cried over my lost boots.  i blame the pinot grigio (see above).

stage five: the upward turn (inclusive in kicking the tater-tot addiction).  we’re working on this one.  stay tuned.

stage six: working through and joining linked-in.  i did the latter. thinking of wearing pearls and getting my MBA now.

stage seven: acceptance and hope.  aka, “i win project runway and marry george clooney”.

so as we work towards stage clooney seven, please send love and light towards all of us impacted by the sucky economy.  in return, i’ll totally invite you to the clooney-coco nuptials–which will feature tater tots, champagne, and sarah michelle gellar and tim gunn as my bridesmaids.

——————

for mimi

welcome to

you may have noticed (please tell me you noticed??!!) that i’ve been unbloggy since i returned from malaweeeeeeeeeeeeeee.   i’ll spare you the gory details, but  i got myself a case of the giarda…or as i like to call it kara dioguardi.

what's worse...the former american idol judge or the protozoan parasite? vote early. vote often.

their similarities are striking: coco can’t seem to pronounce either. both were wildly unpopular.  both kinda stunk.  both finally left after some intervention.

well, now i’m 5-pounds lighter, yay! completely better and ready to get my blog on, yo.  and i figured that there wasn’t a better way to get back in the saddle than with a future ex-husband friday post.

let’s do this!

_________________________________

future ex-husband’s name: amir

rawr!

i’ve been in love with amir since i moved to los angeles.  i drive past his billboard every day and never grow tired of those dark, mysterious eyes.  he’s so g*d damn sexy that he doesn’t need a last name. and after a 5-year, imaginary love affair, it’s about time that he became my future ex-husband.

future ex-husband’s occupation: fashion god.  duh.

future ex husband’s age: doesn’t matter.  he has photoshop.

future ex-husband’s best feature: a tie between his eyebrows and his wallet.

how we fake met: at a very exclusive waxing establishment.

how he fake proposed: on a billboard. duh.

number of fake children: 6.  all named amir.

why our fake marriage fell apart: one day he didn’t show up for our joint spray tan appointment. i became extremely suspicious and tracked him down at our 21 zillion dollar estate in beverly hills.  it was here that i found him in a compromising position with another billboard legend. knowing that i couldn’t compete with her beauty, i filed for divorce.

terms of fake divorce settlement:  i got a billboard off robertson.  he kept the one on santa monica.  i get our airbrusher every other weekend and holidays.

____________________

happy friday, y’all!

———————–

me: “hi, edwin? did aida speak to you about picking me up at 10 am?”

person on the other line: “ah, hello, how are you”?

me: “i’m well, edwin.  how are you today?”

person on the other line: “i am well!  i am glad you are well, also.”

pause

madame.  ‘i regret to inform you, though, that i am not edwin.”

me: “oh…”

person on the other line: “you have reached the fire brigade, madame. perhaps the number you are calling has ’999′ in it.  that is the number for fires.”

me: “oh my gosh!  i’m so sorry!”

person on the other line: “no worries, madame.  we hope you find your edwin.  have a nice day.”

me: “you too”

______________________________

once my embarrassment subsided and i figured that the police wouldn’t come looking for me, i could help but to wonder two things….

(1) are malawi firemen hot like their american brethren?

(2) are there stiff penalties here for calling in a false alarm so as to ascertain the answer question number 1?

ha…i said “stiff”.  thanks for being awesome, malawi! i’ll miss you!

well, the shower and mini bar gym calls.  and tomorrow, back to the airport to finish the journey to mala-weeeee!  talk to you then! xoxo