Men Who Date Democrats

I was at a party a while ago, and a person who I am acquaintances with came and started to talk with me.  I think he must have thought that we were better friends than we were, because he said to me, “So, you’re a democrat, right?  How do you date?!”  I am sure the look on my face was priceless.  First of all, I have no idea how he knew that about me.  We had mutual friends, had been in similar social circles, and were Facebook friends, but I am pretty selective with whom I talk to about politics in depth.  At that point, I hadn’t posted a lot of political opinions on Facebook because I don’t think it is the place for it (it is an election year, so I have broken my own cardinal law here and there, but hadn’t at the point this conversation was taking place).  I guess he had looked at my “About Me” section (stalker?) and saw the words “Blue Dog Dem” next to my political views?  No clue, but awkward.  Secondly, I was shocked that someone was so closed minded to think that anyone’s political opinions meant that they would not be getting dates.  It honestly has not been a problem for me.  Sure, it may keep me from dating someone seriously, because our opinions drive each other crazy (two way street there), but I still seem to be able to date without a problem.  It is a first date topic, however, because I use their reaction to my basic views as a way to see if they can hang with a CoCo sized attitude.  So, in the spirit of his strange, somewhat misogynistic question, I decided to write a blog post about why men should be THRILLED when they get the opportunity to date a democrat.  I will use the issues the DNC published as the top issues important to democrats as my foundation. You can visit that site here for more information.

Civil Rights
This is more than the fact that you may be able to convince the lady democrat of your dreams to date outside of her race or religion.  This also means that she feels strongly about feminism and all issues relating to it.  You won’t end up with a girl void of opinions and feedback.  You won’t end up with a girl who expects to be taken care of.  You may even have the opportunity to be a stay-at-home dad if you end up getting married and her career is able to make you a one-income household while yours is not.  She will also likely have gay friends, where that is another hot civil rights issue.  This is excellent news for you, because a gay male friend is able to give advice on the male brain like no other, because they look at it as a man deciphering another man’s romantic code on a daily basis.  It’s very helpful.  When you are having issues understanding one another, tell her to go have a date with one of her male gay friends, who will be able to explain to her exactly where the communication error is occurring and how to fix it in a way that you will understand.

Energy Independence
She will never want you to drive an inefficient vehicle.  Should you decide to “go green” in your choice of cars, you will only end up saving gas money, even if you don’t buy Global Climate Change as she does.  If you have to take public transportation at some point, she’s not going to freak out because it smells like urine and someone is sitting across from you who is clearly schizophrenic and creepy.  She’ll just be happy that you are being responsible (and cuddle closer for protection, in case the schizo decides to make a sudden movement).  Dates that require less travel or less energy are always a great idea, so you can just go for an evening stroll and call it a plan, and she’s not going to complain.  Think about how romantic candle light can be?  See!  There’s oh-so-many perks to this one.

You want an easy date idea?  Take a democrat on a date to the Saturday Farmers Market to go shopping for local and organic food.  Cheap, too!  This also means her hair will actually move in the wind, because she doesn’t spray it with aerosol hairspray until it is a brick.  She’ll love animals, so that means your dog or cat that you got because you were lonely will never be kicked to the curb (just maybe outside to a nice warm house if she has allergies).  She’ll also likely want to do yard work with you.

If democrats get their way, this means that she will have clean, not stinky breath because she has gone to the dentist.  She won’t be overly hormonal because she keeps her gynecological health in check with an annual exam.  She’ll live longer because she can obtain preventative care.  Your kids would be born as healthy as could be, and if something went wrong they could get the care they needed to become healthy.  Healthcare is a long-term issue, so it is harder to say how it will play in to your immediate dating situations, but the breath thing is a big deal.

Jobs and Economy
She’ll never want or expect you to be as rich as the 1%, so you can do what you love instead of what will get you the biggest portfolio and she’ll support it as long as it isn’t completely ridiculous. She knows the reality is two-income households and will expect to work. She’ll also recognize the need to take care of the less fortunate, without judgement, and be a charitable person. Who wouldn’t want to date a charitable person?

Open Government
She won’t stone wall you and be sneaky. Okay, okay, so this is a stretch, but one can’t believe that the government needs to be transparent in what they do without being transparent in their own life. That is hypocritical.

Science and Technology
You want to be an Apple Fanboy? Be an Apple Fanboy! You’re an Android Nut? Be an Android Nut! Technology is an important link in the chain to a cleaner, better world, so whatever helps move that forward, go for it! Create and do! I really don’t think this is an issue, other than perhaps green sciences, that either right or left minded people have a problem with, unless they are extreme outliers.

Voting Rights
If you really feel strongly about your own political opinions, no matter what they are, you should be glad that actually voting is important to her. Not only is it important to her to vote, it is important to her that you exercise your right to vote for whatever you want. Behind a curtain. In complete anonymity.

Some other highlights? More liberal people tend to name their kids more traditional names, while more political people tend to name their kids odd, made up names. (Here’s my source) Red States have a higher divorce rate than Blue States. (Here’s my source) And, should you ever run for a highly public office, your wife’s political affiliation could make it easier to get rights to your theme song. Clothing Designers will be happy to allow your wife to wear their clothing without a public disclaimer that it is “off the rack.” That is obviously important!  Oh, and one of my favorite kickers, in Schwarzenegger (R) vs Shriver (D), who was the one with the filthy, dirty secrets?

So, to answer your question, my friend, my political affiliation has no bearing on whether or not I get dates. Your social skills may have a bearing on whether or not you are getting dates. Plus, my political views aside, I’m a pretty fun person, so as long as a guy can allow me my right to my opinions, they’re in for quite the ride!


Whiny Baby

I have had a lot of customer service oriented jobs in my day.  Whether I am smoothing things over in the office, with a customer/client, or otherwise.  Through this experience, I have learned that the person who throws the giant tantrum is never the person you want to help resolve their problem.  You really just want to say “no” to them even more for acting so childish.  Whenever I have a problem with a service or business, I will either 1) not address the problem, just know that I will never be a repeat customer, or 2) address the problem directly and sternly, but try my hardest not to shoot the messenger.  I try to give people the benefit of the doubt.  I really don’t love confrontation, so I usually choose solution 1, and only result to solution 2 when there is a serious issue.
Well, this week, I have realized that complaining actually carries a lot more clout than you would think.  Let me present. 
Exhibit A:
I went to Red Mango 10 minutes before they closed.  The lobby was full of customers, and as my friend and I pulled up to park, we saw other patrons walking out the door.  Somewhere between when we parked and when we walked up to the door, someone had locked the doors.  The lobby was full of people, and I was there yanking on the door like a crazy person, trying to figure out why it wouldn’t open (yes it was a pull door, and I wasn’t stuck because I was pulling on a push door).  Locked out.  The patrons were staring at me with confused/concerned looks, like “Why is this girl unable to open a door.  That is a simple enough task.”  I looked at the hours posted on the door, and at my phone.  Sure enough, I was there 10 to close, and they had locked me out.  The little pimple-faced punks behind the counter didn’t even acknowledge my spectacle, which was sign #1 that they knew they were doing something sneaky.
So, what did I do?  I got mad.  I wrote a letter.  A strongly worded email.  I sure showed corporate Red Mango that I was upset.  How dare they let little lazy teenagers afraid of staying at work an extra 10 minutes come between me and my tart, low calorie goodness?  Well, they weren’t happy with my discontent.  I received an apology from the national Red Mango headquarters as well as one from the local franchise owner.  Both mailed me free Red Mango gift certificates to earn back my business.  Congratulations, Red Mango, you won my patronage back.  Good thing I’m easily swayed with cold, sweet treats.
Exhibit B:  
I was off work around 9:30.  I was hungry.  I didn’t want anything off of the CPK menu.  I don’t love pizza, and the 3 or 4 items I do order when I work were not sounding great to me.  So, on my way home I decided to stop for a SuperSonic Breakfast Burrito.  One of the few fast foods that can be ordered any time of day vegetarian style, and eggs are WAY better for my tummy that late at night than say a 7-layer burrito from Taco Bell.  I pulled in to one of the car-hop stalls and ordered.  On the other end was someone who clearly didn’t know how to take my order, as I had to repeat myself several times, and then my total came up to be half of what the posted price of my burrito plus the cost of a drink should be.  When the little car hop brought my food, she told me that the girl who took my order messed up (obviously), so they didn’t charge me for my drink.  I asked her if my order did come through as a SuperSonic Breakfast Burrito without meat.  She said it was, so I left.  When I got home, I opened the burrito to make sure I wasn’t going to be biting in to a big fat disgusting piece of sausage.  Well, not only would I not be getting meat, but it seemed the only thing that had found its way into the tortilla was a very burned scrambled egg and a couple of tater tots.  NASTY!  
So, what did I do?  I wrote another email.  Another firm letter explaining how my experience was less than satisfactory.  What did I get?  The next day, the shift leader called my phone to apologize and offered me a free meal and gave me his cell phone number.  A few hours later, the general manager of that location called and gave me his cell number as well as offered a free meal.  The following day, the regional manager called to see if I had been called by the first two and also gave me his cell phone number and a free meal.  WOW!  Can you say Sonic advocate for life?  Like the delicious pellet ice and Diet Dr. Pepper on tap wasn’t enough?  Give me free jalapeno and eggy goodness, and I’m yours!
So, what did we learn this week, children?  We learned that sometimes being a whiny baby when things aren’t exactly how they should be ends up with getting copious amounts of free junk food.  I am not saying to make up things to complain about if everything is fine, just to get free stuff.  That is dishonest and annoying, and anyone helping you would probably do everything they can to NOT give you something for free.  But, a firm email detailing your truthfully poor experience that is then handled in an over-the-top manner will turn a customer into a fan.  OR we learned that all you have to do to win CoCo over is give her free food.

Big Things Come In Small Packages

I know, I know… it has been a while!  My life has been busy this summer.  In the past month, I welcomed one brother home from his LDS mission in Washington, DC, welcomed a new sister into my family as my other brother married the incomparable Teresa, and found out that the baby baking in my sissy’s tummy is going to be a girl!  Shove Father’s Day in there, too, and you’ve got a very busy Miss CoCo.

So, this post is going to be short and sweet.  I’ve got a bit of writers block as I have had too much chaos as of late to formulate a witty thought.  I just came across this today and it inspired me so much that I wanted to write a quick note about it.  Today, while perusing Facebook, I came across this beautiful little girl with her own fan page.  Her name is Adalia Rose.  She is five years old, has more spunk than most people five times her age, and sucks you in with her gorgeous big brown eyes and cute little dimples.  She’s a true girly-girl, and loves to get dressed up in wigs and makeup, sing songs, and dance around.  She’s also very silly, and we all know how I love silly!  Adalia doesn’t look like most children, because she has a rare genetic condition known as Progeria.  I researched it to learn a little more about what makes this little girl so unique.  Progeria is sort like The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, except instead of being born old and growing younger as he did, they are born old and grow even older very quickly.  People with this condition are very tiny, are unable to grow hair and eyelashes, and either get teeth slowly or don’t ever get teeth at all.  Their heads are also large for their bodies and they have high pitched voices.  Most live only until their teenage years, but some have lived into their twenties.  Needless to say, their short little lives are full of trials.  However, this young lady may be one of the most inspiring little people I have ever seen!

I have “liked” her on Facebook, and it appears that she has had a lot of trouble with people pirating her videos and such, so as much as I want to grab some videos for you, I won’t post anything on my blog except for a link to her Facebook page here.  I feel like it is really easy to get caught up in our own lives, our own struggles and complaints.  I dare you to watch any of her videos and not smile.  This teeny tiny package of joy and positivity will, hopefully, remind you that it is always better to smile and be happy.  Always.  If you can still have a bad day after watching her adorable video of doing an Indian Belly Dance that she posted on June 9, then you may not have a soul.  Girl’s got some serious moves!  Let alone the fact she is only 5!  I love her talent and her beauty, and I will definitely strive to be more like her.  Thank you, Adalia.

I also wanted to give a quick, semi-related, plug with this for a charity I feel strongly about.  Make-A-Wish Foundation is having their 24th Annual Rubber Ducky Derby. If you would like to donate, you can via my friend Stacey’s donation page, HERE.  It’s never a bad thing to help children achieve a dream!

That is SO GAY!

It is the weekend of PRIDE here in Salt Lake, and I wouldn’t be me without mentioning it, or my love for all my gays in my life… and lucky for me, there are a lot of them!

As an LDS, straight female from the middle of Utah, I probably don’t fit the mold of most advocates of the gay way, but I do have several close friends and extended family members that bring the issues related with their lifestyles straight home to me. I’m not going to be all up in anyone’s face who may feel differently than I do on this topic, but I am going to clearly state on my personal blog what my feelings are on it.

My faith believes that marriage is between a man and a woman. I love my faith, and for two LDS people to get sealed for all time and eternity, who believe in the church and all of its teachings and follow the rules set in place to attend the temple, yes, being straight is one of those qualifications. There are a LOT more than that as well. I will never be an advocate for changing the way the rules are set up within my faith or any other faiths. Because of my belief in God, I just know that fighting anyone’s beliefs there is one futile fight. However, my belief in God also makes me feel strongly about loving others and allowing others their agency to do what they want to do, especially if it is a good thing. I also feel that God knows the hearts of all of his children intimately and individually. If there is a judgement to be passed on the hearts, intentions, and motivations behind any action that is made, He will judge it accordingly. Not me. When I have seen friends and family struggle to be open with who they know themselves to be inside, I realized how harsh anyone is to judge that. I want them to do what feels true to them, as I do what feels true to me, and make the best choices I know how to make. If who they are leads them to choose to be open about their sexuality that is different than mine, good for them for having the courage to choose to share that side of themselves openly with the world. (I use the word “choice” as describing a behavior that you can control, not as describing things within yourself that you cannot and did not choose. Ex: One thing I am inside is tender-hearted. I didn’t choose that, but I can choose to openly show it at certain times, because at the wrong time, it can appear as a weakness and I don’t want to show that. I wanted to make that distinction between what we choose and what we do not choose.) So that is how I religiously feel on the subject. My religion doesn’t advocate gay marriage, but my faith advocates loving others. As long as nobody is ever fighting to change my religion’s rules, I have no problem what their religion or belief system is. To my knowledge, no gay couples have stormed the temple, wanting to be married. Why would I want them to be forbidden to be married outside of it? I will defend religious freedom zealously, but I will never defend the right to withhold rights from others if they don’t agree with or practice your religion.

Politically and socially, marriage has become an institution that represents more than what it has historically for religions. The moment the government started giving perks to people who were married, and insurance companies and hospitals started deciding who was allowed to be claimed as what, that is when marriage became more than just a religion’s domain. Sorry, but that is how it is. One side or another is going to have to give, eventually. Either married people are going to need to lose their rights and privileges granted to them by the state (never going to happen), or gay couples are going to need to be granted the same rights. Saying that gay people cannot marry and obtain these rights because “I don’t believe in it” is the same as a racist person saying that a black person can’t go to school, because “they don’t believe in it.” I know that race and sexual orientation are different, but it’s pretty easy to show the nonsensical argument on the state and government level when you make the comparison. Or, if you believe that sexual orientation is a choice, then so is religion. You can compare taking away a gay person’s rights to taking away a Jews rights, if you would prefer. I’m not great with remembering history and all of its details, but the latter seemed to be a major part of the last World War, right? Socially, marriage is the ultimate symbol of commitment. You are committing to the state and government that no matter what kind of shenanigans this other person is going to get in to, you are tied to them and share responsibility. They screw up their credit, yours could get screwed up, too. They rack up debt and die suddenly, you’ll foot the bill. They get black balled from the block parties in your neighborhood, you’re uninvited, too. It’s a serious commitment when it comes to social and government recognition. If two people who are of age decide that they want to make that kind of commitment to one another, then let them. Don’t tell them that they can just live together, build a life together, and then never get any of the actual perks that comes with sharing that kind of commitment. Two people can put their name on a lease or bank account, but that doesn’t mean that if one of them were to be hospitalized suddenly, the other person on that lease or bank account would have any say in their care. See the conundrum built by not recognizing gay unions within our government?
I hope I didn’t offend anyone by my little post here, but I just wanted to clearly state that I do support gay marriage, and why I have come to that conclusion. I should say, I support the GL community, but the BTQ part, I really don’t know enough about… I’m actually very confused by the T part. Here’s an open letter to RuPaul. Give me a call. I have a lot of questions… and where exactly does the Q come in? Either way, happy PRIDE week from Salt Lake City! I’m PROUD of you! Love, CoCo!

PS: If you ever say the title of my post here, “That is SO GAY!” as an insult and I hear you, you are going to get an earful… Also, I hold an equal opportunity no PDA rule.  I don’t want to see anyone making out in public.  Period.

Tabula Rasa

Tabula Rasa, a Latin phrase that translated literally means “erased slate” or blank slate, is an idea used to argue that nurture, not nature, is what creates a person’s thoughts.  The theory is that people are born without opinions, habits, personality, emotions, knowledge, etc., and everything that they encounter in their life “writes” on their slate to create who they are.  I do not believe in Tabula Rasa.

I have noticed lately that the more I seem to think I have grown and changed, the more I remember that I am becoming exactly as I was as a child.  Obviously, the element of maturity changes things, but fundamentally, there are more similarities than I would have thought.  So apparently, when I was removed (I say this because I wasn’t actually born, I was removed, and it kind of bugs my mom when I say I wasn’t born), my little brain was stuffed full of the full grown sass you find today.  Here are some examples.

I have always done exactly what I want to do.  No more, no less.  One famous example as a small child was fabulously retold by my aunt Heidi, who was present for the experience.  I was probably around 2.  I wasn’t wearing a diaper anymore.  My mom was getting frustrated and wanted me to do something that I, apparently, didn’t want to do.  So I stood up, put my little hands on my hips, and proceeded to pee on demand.  She told me to stop, which I did.  Then, when she started telling me what to do again and getting mad for peeing, I took a step forward and peed in defiance some more.  My two year old self sure showed her who was boss!
My school aged self was pretty opinionated in what I would and wouldn’t do as well.  Granted, I was generally well behaved in school.  School, I could handle for the most part.  However, take me on a field trip I didn’t want to go on?  No thank you.  I would conveniently be “sick” on days that I didn’t feel like participating.  Class field trips were sort of annoying to me.  I am pretty sure I only went on half of them.  Optional trips, like to see musicals or museums, I was all over, but trips that everyone went on, like to Zions Canyon, not my thing.  Same went for classes I didn’t want to participate in.  One year I was mysteriously sick most days for the class period after lunch.  Obviously, I must have a food allergy, right?  At least that is what the school, my teachers, and parents were convinced of.  Ya, nope.  I hated doing Mighty Math, which were math facts timings that we did every day.  They stressed me out and I hated them.  So, instead, I would lay in a tub full of pillows that my teacher had in the back of his classroom for sick kids, and just chill.  Granted, I don’t pull the “sick” card anymore.  I just flat out say that I don’t want to do things.  The adult world offers so few sick days, that I save those for when I actually need them.

Oddly, as an adult, my stomach has decided that it hates mornings, too.   It makes it really hard to get out the door very early, because it decides to throw a fit around 8 AM every day.  As a child, you could not get me up.  I was quoted to have mumbled at the breakfast table one day, “I wist I wuz a mowning pewson.” (I couldn’t talk very well.  I took speech therapy classes until second grade.)  I remember asking my mom for some Diet Coke before kindergarten.  AM kindergarten was the death of me.  Remember, that was the 80’s, so she wasn’t a bad parent for giving her kid soda, and with me, it was sort of a necessity.  Left to my own devices, my schedule would be to sleep from 2 AM to 12 Noon, and have the rest of my day fit somewhere between.  Unfortunately, the rest of the world doesn’t agree with me.

When I was in preschool, I refused to wear overalls because they were “farmer pants,” and I didn’t want to be confused with a farmer.  For first grade school shopping, I refused to buy pants.  I wanted all dresses, because that is what girls wear.  Again, with my rough mornings, I would say at the breakfast table in my little muffled mumble, “Umm… I didn’t wanna weah dis,” after realizing that my mom had dressed me in something I did not approve of.  To my dismay, I always realized it a little late, because I had just fully awakened. I’ll still redress mannequins when I go into a store and find a horrendously styled outfit. I’m not necessarily the most fashion forward person, but I have taste and a distinct style, which has always been in tact.

I say misguided, because I don’t cry when one would expect me to, and I am a complete baby about odd things. Few may know the song, “Abraham, Martin, and John.” I would google it and tell you who wrote it, but I don’t want to accidentally hear it or read the lyrics. Harry Belafonte sang it, and it was on a CD I loved when I was a kid. I had to skip it. I had no idea what it was about (knowing what it is as an adult, yes, it is cry worthy), but it never failed, if someone turned it on, or heaven forbid let the CD play unattended, I would be an inconsolable mess. Benji The Hunted was a very bad idea to take little CoCo to, as I still remember bawling in the foyer of the theater. On the same note, I still can’t even see the cover of Charlotte’s Web, and yes, I know it is about a spider, which I kill without a second thought. A few years ago, I cried because the mom in front of me, who looked to have very little money, wouldn’t let her kid buy a box of brownie mix. My life is full of spontaneous oddly timed tears. I cry when I go to the doctor. Every time. No idea why. Please don’t make me tell you the story of The Last Leaf, either.

I’m sure it is no surprise that I am fairly independent. Anyone who knew me when I was labeled a “Siamese Twin” with my childhood BFF Lindsey, would probably disagree, as we were always together. I did, and still do, prefer playing with a friend, but I was also very good at being alone. I could play Barbies for hours on end, in my room, by myself. When I broke my arm, I was alone in my backyard playing circus in a tutu and leotard on my monkeybars. I think my sister was jumping on the trampoline, and did get help, but I was definitely in my own realm when it happened. I am quite comfortable doing most things on my own. I fully believe that company makes life better, but I am not scared to just go do something by myself if I want. I enjoy my solo adventures, and make great conversation with myself in my head. Same as when I played Barbies.

Sorry, Mom and Dad. You should have seen this one coming long before I dated the person who you think turned me. Let me remind you, at Point Defiance Zoo, my cousin Emily and I would walk around and talk about how terrible the confined spaces were, and praise the animal displays that had a more natural habitat. We also planned our own animal sanctuaries when we would grow up. I would always make sure to cut the plastic 6-pack holders from the soda, just in case it ended up in the water, so a fish could swim through it without getting caught. I special ordered “vegan” shoes in 7th grade, and also went a while as a vegetarian as an adolescent. I believed in equal rights for my dolls, and always wanted the black baby dolls. I wrote a paper on the suffrage in 6th grade, and for some reason had a bee in my bonnet about women being allowed to play men’s hockey (of all the random sports to pick). I wanted to give money to every homeless person I saw without a second thought as to what they would do with the money they were given, and couldn’t understand how America even had homeless people. The gay issue wasn’t on my radar until adulthood, so my opinions on that are new, but I have always loved Queen. The finer details of politics and politicians are obviously more polarizing, and I find myself in the middle on most issues, but you can see why my basic beliefs land me squarely on the left side of that messy world. Incidentally, the knowledge that I have had these opinions most of my life also mean that I try not to argue politics, because I assume most people have their political beliefs equally ingrained.

I hate wearing clothes. You have no idea how many pictures I have of me throughout childhood with my bare bum peaking out. At age 10, my dad wanted to sneak in to the laundry room and video my sister and I who he could hear singing and dancing. Little did he know, we were only wearing our underpants. Rachel quickly covered herself, while I proceeded to sing my own song called, “I’m dancing nude.” This glorious event is caught on family home video. My favorite part of family Lake Powell camping trips was the evening bath trip. We’d take the boats out and I’d get to jump in the water and swim around naked to clean myself off. That sounds a little more awkward than it actually was, written in short form like this. Anyone who has lived with me knows that I am not shy about walking around in my underwear, and I rarely wear pants to bed. I would say my favorite naked moment ever was going to Little Beach on Maui last year. Everyone should frolic in the ocean naked along side weird, old and overweight hippies at least once in their lives.

This is not allegorical. I literally can’t remember where brakes are in an emergency. I have driven a mountain bike into the lake, crashed a 4-wheeler into my mom’s mini-van, backed the same mini-van into my dad’s truck (I was 15) and kept going until I had scratched both for the full length of the vehicles, hit my sister’s boyfriend with a wave runner, and crashed a scooter in the parking lot of Belmont Apartments while fabulously driving in high heels. I have learned how to remember brakes in a car, thankfully, and actually have developed impressive snow driving skills. But seriously, don’t ever trust me to drive anything else. No matter how much I beg, I will crash it and I know that. I panic and don’t know where the brakes are, then try to abort ship and end up crashing the vehicle, myself, or both. Trust me. Saying no and putting up with my argument as to why you should let me is much better than the outcome if you say yes. 4-wheelers have two sets of brakes, and if I couldn’t remember that in an emergency, well… Yes, this is a problem.

I could keep going, but this is already a really long blog post. Needless to say, I find it hilarious that as I grow and find who I am, I find that I have really known this person all along. It’s just a matter of recognizing the parts that are good, letting them grow, and trying to control the less savory traits to appear less often. That is where the nurture comes in.

Christougenniatiko Dentrophobia

Christougenniatiko Dentrophobia: The Fear of Christmas Trees or a Christmas Tree

It’s no secret that I love a good pampering session.  Whether it is going to the spa, sitting by the pool, getting a massage or pedi, or my hair done.  I will spend more money and time on pampering myself than food.  It’s definitely a requisite part of  the CoCo Lifestyle.  Before I go any further, you should know that, while this post is titled about a Christmas Tree, it is in reference to nether region care.  If you don’t want to know this portion of my life, stop reading here.

For the past few months, I have had a standing appointment with my friend Aaron to go to Nailed in Salt Lake City for a pedicure and he gets a mani while I get a wax.  (I also feel that hair should not be found anywhere below the eyebrows.  Waxing is something that helps accomplish this more efficiently.)  Last month I got a wax and had a pretty bad reaction.  I was itchy and burny down there for a couple of weeks.  Because I have had several waxes before, I didn’t believe this could possibly happen again.  It had to be a fluke.  Well, maybe not.

On Wednesday, I had another not-so-far-away-get-away with Aaron to Nailed.  Same appointments as always.  This day seemed a bit cursed.  I had already just found out that I had a giant canker growing in my throat.  On my way to my appointment, I somehow hit the TRAX right as three different trains were crossing.  I really don’t even know how there were three trains so close together, either, but that day, there were.  Then there was an ambulance barreling through, construction, and an extended stop at a cross walk while some teenage boy was struggling to ride his unicycle across the street.  When I finally got to the salon about 3 minutes past the time my appointment was supposed to start, they whisked me away to the back room for my wax.  I was definitely uneasy when I had the same technician who caused the burn the first time.  As she was waxing, I told her that the last time wasn’t very pleasant.  She asked me if I was allergic to almonds or honey, because those are common allergens in the wax.  Nope!  Not allergic.  Totally had to be a fluke.  When I was finished, I went on to the pedi station, followed by a stop by Tulie Bakery for Tea Time with Aaron (Iced mint tea… Bananas how delish it is!)

Let’s fast forward to the following morning.  I was awakened from my slumber by a familiar itch at around 4 AM.  Oh crap!  So I ran downstairs and grabbed the aloe vera out of the fridge.  My grandma used aloe as a cure all for everything, literally would just grab a spine off of her plant and rub it on us, and the cool soothing was the only thing that I could think of to help me at 4 am.   Relief enough to go back to bed.  Well, the whole day, I proceeded to get worse.  By the time I got home from work, I was literally unbuttoning my pants in the parking lot and running to my house.  SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH!  I wanted to die!  What was worse is that my whole area was puffy and hot with hives.  I rubbed hydrocortizone all over myself. Nothing.  Grabbed ice packs out of the freezer to sit on.  No relief, only more itching because the cold was bothering my non-effected areas.  Googling furiously, I found a few recommended cures, including diaper rash cream, but why on EARTH would I have that in my house?  So I did what any adult woman would do at midnight.  I called my mom in near tears.  “MOM!  My bum hurts!  HELP!”

Well, the handy thing about my mom is that she does actually know cures for most things.  She told me to sit in a cool tub of water with a liberal amount of baking soda added and then my roommate, randomly, had something she said was used for diaper rash in Uruguay.  I have awesome women in my life.  After my bath and a good rub down of Dr. Selby Crema Curativa, I was feeling amazingly better.  I topped that off with an ibuprofen and some benadryl.  Sleep came, and I didn’t wake up until around 9 am, with my typical post benadryl sideways walk.  I don’t take medicine often, because I get really weird reactions, like the inability to comprehend putting one foot in front of the other after coming down from benadryl.  By the time I got myself figured out and off to work, I was furious at this waxing session.  I would rather have hair than this trauma!  I called the waxing place again and told them I needed to know all the ingredients in their wax.  I was put on hold for a few minutes, then the girl came back and said, “You’re not by chance allergic to pine, are you?  There’s pine resin in the wax she used.”  Umm… From the girl who loves Christmas but can’t have a real Christmas tree unless I want to spend my holiday unable to breath, YES I AM ALLERGIC TO PINE!  Really, you would think this would be something that she asked before she rubbed it all over my crotchal area and got it nicely embedded into my pores.  At least now that I know the culprit, I am able to treat the reaction better and can finally stop with the incessant urge to rub my pelvic area against a sand blaster.

Ay! Ay!  Ay!  So that is my story on why I have a fear of Christmas trees, LOVE Uruguayan medicine, and am very glad I have a mom who answers her phone at midnight.  Lesson learned, check all the ingredients before liberally applying something to your crotch.

Gone With The… What Was I Saying?

 I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow. -Scarlett O’Hara

There’s one thing I’m grateful for when times get tough.  It’s my ability to just not think about things.  Seriously.  I know some of my therapy-minded friends are going to tell me that this is a very unhealthy way to think or behave.  Feelings buried or left unaddressed will eat you alive.  Your issues that you swallow will affect you in other ways, whether it be health issues or lead to eternal unhappiness.  You talk it out and get it all worked out in the open.  Well, this may work for some people, but for me, this is not the a cure.  (I want to note that this is in no way invalidating my friends and family who practice or use therapy for themselves.  It has its place for people.)

I have found that my emotions like to be treated much like a flesh wound.  You recognize that it definitely hurts when it happens, shed a tear or two, and then you keep it clean and untouched and let it heal on its own.  You should NEVER pick at the scab, otherwise it scars, becomes very ugly, and doesn’t get better.  Kind of ironic, actually, considering I am the world’s WORST picker and have never had a scab or pimple that I actually let heal on its own, but when it comes to my feelings, this is exactly what I need.  I have found that as I leave my heart alone, and let my feelings figure themselves out, time has passed, things are not as bad as they once seemed, and I am good to go.

Great balls of fire. Don’t bother me anymore, and don’t call me sugar! – Scarlett O’Hara

If there is one thing I hate, emotionally speaking, it is when people want to poke at the open wound or pick at the nearly healed scab.  Just don’t do it.  I will talk to you about it if I want to.  If you have a guilty conscience for something you did to me, that is all on you.  Don’t hurt me more by trying to talk it out.  I really don’t want to.  To be frank, you hurt me the first time.  I don’t owe you the favor of letting you apologize.  Just let me get over it and I’ll talk to you later if I decide.  I’m not saying I will never forgive.  I have a terrible memory.  I will usually forgive, if not completely forget, what you did.  In that way, I’m like a little toddler.  Let me be distracted, and I’ll completely forget that there was an issue.  Bigger issues, I’ll remember, but I will be a lot happier not having them brought to the forefront of my memories and not thinking about them.

Needless to say, there are a lot of things I quite like about Miss Scarlett O’Hara, and times I “fiddle dee dee” my way through life, but this is a big one for Miss CoCo.  Don’t try to make me think about things I don’t want to think about.  By Tara, you’ll be sorry.

You helpless? Heaven help the Yankees if they catch you. -Rhett Butler

Before I Die, Or Turn 30

A couple of weeks ago, my friend Erika and I were talking about things we should do before we turn 30. Yes, believe it or not, I will be 30 in December.  That means that I have just a few months to do all those stupid things that you can then look back and excuse by saying, “Eh, I was in my twenties.”  So, I found a list of 50 things you HAVE to do before you are 30.  Let’s see how well I’m doing. I bolded and put a ✓ next to the ones I have done to make it easier to scroll through, as it is a LONG list. (I would like to note that I had to figure out how to code a ✓ as well, which I will now ✓ off as an accomplishment, since code is not something I ever thought I would figure out how to do.)

1. Have a really stupid accident which necessitates a hospital visit
This has happened a few times for me. Probably one of the more notable would be when I decided to ride a motor scooter through the Belmont parking lot in Provo while wearing high heels. Let it be written that I told them it would end with me crashing. I panicked, forgot where the breaks were, and ended up flipping, splitting my eye open and with plenty of road rash.
2. Shoot something
I don’t like guns, and killing something is not high on my bucket list. However, I did get talked in to shooting a gun on a camp out a few years ago, and I did murder an aluminum can. So if you find yourself waking up as the Tin Man, be afraid… be very afraid!
3. Take a weekend break more than 1000 miles from home
1000 miles requires longer than a weekend. Not worth the torture of the drive, otherwise.
4. Boot Linux on your home PC
Boota whata?
5. Get lost in a country where you don’t speak the language
I can thank my mom for this… Taking us all on what will forever go down as The Great Walk in Puerto Vallarta, and why none of us will ever follow her anywhere outside of Annabella again.
6. Spend more than your monthly income on a pocket sized gadget
7. Post bail for a friend
I’m the only one of my friends that I know of who has been arrested.
8. Break a really large plate glass window
9. Make a parachute jump on a hangover
H to the no. PETRIFIED of heights.
10. Use a whole roll of gaffa tape in one day
11. Make a pointless modification to your house
12. Neck a pint of peppermint oil
What does this even mean?
13.Nearly hook up with a shemale by mistake (but realize in time…)
Really? I’d be shocked if any girl could pose as a guy that I would actually be attracted to. I have a hard enough time finding guys I like, let alone girls dressed as guys. Definitely not my thing.  I don’t find this a rite of passage, I find this a rite of stupidity after probably way too much to drink.  It’s pretty obvious.
14. Buy a samurai sword
Am I a 12 year old boy?
15. Delay paying a bill until the summons arrives
Yep! I still do delay paying my phone bill every month. It just bugs me for some reason.
16. Destroy a speed camera
17. Refill an inkjet cartridge
18. Say something obscene on national television
Oh believe me! If I had ever been on National Television, I would totally say something naughty!
19. Do a J turn in order to beat somebody to a parking space
I went to BYU. Cougars don’t cut corners, but they sure do cut to park!
20. Break a sledgehammer
Suggestions on how this could be accomplished? This just sounds like awesome bragging rights.
21. Make a bomb
I made a volcano… does that count? I am not a violent person
22. Smash a CRT
23. Require medical treatment as a consequence of kinky sex gone wrong (STDs don’t count.)
24. Tip a waiter with something other than money
NEVER! NEVER! NEVER! This makes me want to write a strongly worded letter to the author of this list
25. Light a fire with petrol
26. Kidnap someone
27. Park inside a motorway service station
28. Own a convertible.
29. Live abroad.
This I really should do before I am 30… Suggestions on locale?
30. Drive at more than 140mph
The drive between Provo and Annabella is a long one. I used to drive like a maniac and get home in an hour. Then, I got smart.
31. Get something for free through a masterpiece of complaining
Like 20 Motorola RAZR phones because mine kept breaking when I had one.
32. Give yourself a mains electric shock
Is that when you accidentally touch the metal prong of the plug while it is in the wall? I have done that several times. It’s not fun.
33. Completely dismantle an object larger than yourself ✓
A bed. That isn’t exciting, though. I have replaced a toilet, but it’s not larger than me.
34. Total a car
35. Fall asleep and get really hilarious sunburn ✓
36. Get drunk on Absinthe
37. Stay up all night listening to a girl have an emotional crisis ✓
I have had roommates for over 10 years. This is a way of life.
38. Lick the terminals of a 9 volt battery
Is this a list of things I did before I turned 10?
39. Take part in motorsport
40. Stay at the office for more than 24 hours
I’d rather die. No job should require this. Ever.
41. Set off a fire extinguisher
42. Drive at least 600 miles in a day on two lane roads
43. Hotwire a car
44. Watch all the Monty Python films In one sitting
45. Shag an ex-boyfriend by mistake
46. Dial 911
The last time I called 911 was when I saw a pig speeding towards me on the freeway. Yes, a pig on the freeway. That is just not ok!
47. Commit a faux pas which means that a friend will never speak to you again
I constantly stick my foot in my mouth. I’m sure I have done this and don’t even realize it.
48. Make a bet you couldn’t afford to lose
Bad idea to go to Wendover when you are uneployed, but I did once.
49. Read a 500 page book in one sitting ✓
It shocked me, too!
50. Escape a perfectly justified parking ticket.
I’ve gotten out of twice as many tickets as I have been issued, and I have been issued a lot! Tears don’t work. Putting your hands clearly where the cop can see them, turning your dome light on if it is dark, and admitting guilt usually works better.

So I guess 20 out of 50 isn’t too bad… Honestly, after reading all of those things, I don’t know that I even WANT to do all of them in my life.  Ever.  Any suggestions on things I should add to the list in the next few months?  The clock is ticking!

The Necessities of Life

Sorry, mom, but this post isn’t very lady like.  Some of you may know that my tummy follows suit with my brain and is all over the place chaotic.  In layman’s terms, the little movers in my intestine don’t know which is up and which is down, so it likes to move my food around forwards and backwards.  Basically, what that means to me is I try not to eat a lot of junk food or fried food that hurts my tummy, I take medicine every day for it, and I have seen the bathroom of nearly every location I have been since I was 17 years old.  This has made me an expert on all things loo.

George Washington, as I found out this past week while visiting Mount Vernon, called his The Necessity.  Not to be confused with Fort Necessity, which was the location of George Washington’s only military surrender.  Gastric surrender is not the same as military surrender.  How inconvenient that it was so far from the house!  I mean, I have seen out-houses before, but I guess after walking through Mount Vernon with all the “modern conveniences” that it had for its day, imported carpets, rugs and brightly painted walls trimmed with hand painted faux mahogany pine, I was forced to think how terrible it would be to make a 3 AM potty run in January.  The President’s Potty was definitely not up to my standards.

Then there are the oddities of “modern” toilets.  In the Portland Oregon Airport and also the Oregon Convention Center, they have green handled toilets with some directions to pull up for “light duty” or push down for “heavy duty.”  While I understand the water conservation aspect, the light duty flush sort of freaks me out.  What if it doesn’t really get all of the previous person’s leftovers out of the water?  I don’t want to go to the bathroom in someone else’s dirty water!  I always use the heavy duty flush, even though I know it is socially irresponsible.  It makes me feel a little guilty, but I refuse to let a toilet make me feel too badly about myself.  The other modern inconvenient water closet feature is the automatic flushing toilet.  There’s the overzealous ones that won’t even let you put down a seat cover without quickly whisking it away or its opposite lazy bum version that waits until long after you leave the stall to kindly remove your deposit.  However, I think the worst part about the auto-flushers is that there is no way to courtesy flush.  If you are forced to make an unpleasant aroma, it makes it much more embarrassing when you can’t flush it away before it has too much air time.

Now a modern potty I can totally get behind is the airplane potty.  Sure, it’s a little cramped and creepy to think about where everything goes when you are done, but I am quite a fan of the fact that it sucks and flushes everything out so effectively, including any lingering stink.  I’m also quite keen on some of the newer models of “traditional” thrones that are pressurized to remove everything quickly rather than the whole gross swirl and drop.

I can tell you what Johns are the best to stop for, and the ones where you would be better off stopping on the side of a freeway during rush hour than going in to.  Here’s a run-down.  Circle C in Nephi is always filthy, but they have automatic toilets, sinks, paper towel dispensers, and no door, which means no nasty doorknob, so you can leave almost completely germ free.  My favorite bathrooms are at Little America or Grand America because you have your own little marble palace of solace for your business.  I also quite like the bathroom outside of the gate to Disneyland.  Nobody ever uses it, and it’s HUGE!  So clean, so cute, and also likely to be private.  Plus, the honeycomb tile on the floor is fun to make patterns with in your head while you’re otherwise indisposed.  Never use a department store bathroom unless it is Nordstrom’s.  For some reason, they always smell bad and have terrible, yellow lighting.  If you have to ask for a key to use the bathroom, it isn’t because the bathroom is nice.  It actually means that they never clean it, and the seat is guaranteed to be freezing because they don’t heat that space of the building.  Try not to use church bathrooms, either, because there is always the smell of poopy diapers and your hands will smell like stinky church soap for days.  Dyson hand blowers are the best and the Mitsubishi knock off takes just as long to dry your hands as regular hand dryers.  Oh, and studies show that the stall LEAST used is the first one, so always try to nab it.

Now you’re privy to my privy knowledge.  Here’s to great CoComodes in your future!

Why Audrey was smarter than Marilyn

He may have gone to Jared, but She had breakfast at Tiffany’s.  Within the past year, I have started a new tradition for myself.  It is buying myself jewelry.  Not just cutesy, trendy pieces, but classic pieces that can be passed down to my children someday (or my sister’s little baby blueberry, since that’s the closest thing I currently have as an heir to my CoCo-ness).  Don’t get me wrong, I do love myself a big, gaudy fashion piece, but those end up being well loved for a short time, and then usually break or go out of style within a year.  I’m sure somewhere there is someone groaning at the fact that I am spending my money on baubles instead of investing it in something more serious, but these are emotional investments that are pretty and I love them.

It all started with a set of pearl earrings.   They were a gift with a major emotional investment.  I will spare you the drama of my first real pearl earrings, but to show you a bit of what went down, the first time I received them was two years before I actually was able to keep them.  Lots of tears went in to getting those babies!  Once I had them for keeps, I loved them!  Nothing makes you feel more like a lady than a set of pearl earrings.  One day, I took them off and left them in my bathroom.  [Side note: For those of you who don’t know, I live with one of my good friends who has been raising her niece.  She’s twelve and comes with everything you would expect from a twelve year old girl with a side of extra sass.  I really would take any drama a 12 year old can dish out any day than deal with drama of living with someone closer to my age, and her aunt and I never have drama, so this is actually a pretty decent set up, and most days are really fun.  I know I don’t like living alone, and I can’t think of any other friends I would rather be living with.  Plus, I kind of like the fact that our neighbors are freaked out by the weird “lesbian” couple next door… Because we both like guys… but I digress]  Well, little girl cleaned the bathroom the following day and that was the last time I saw one of those pearls.  I don’t know if it went down the sink, in the trash or vacuum, but I tore that bathroom apart.  It was gone.  I just had one little lonely pearl. It broke my heart a bit to lose it, but at the same time, it brought me an odd sense of closure to the drama that came with the actual obtaining of the pearls.

So, obviously, when I went to Hawaii last year, #1 on my list was to open up an oyster and get a pearl for my lonely pearl I had lost.  Well, that didn’t pan out quite as I had planned.  Opening pearls is an exceptionally magical experience, and I know I totally fell deep into the tourist trap, but I loved it!  Hello!  You greet them into the world with a great big “ALOHA” and they have little belly buttons!  I opened several oysters and had two necklaces and a double pearl ring made and bought myself a set of earrings that were bigger than my original pearls (I also left with a very cute Hawaiian’s number.  Gotta love that Hawaiian men go for something they like when they see it!).  These pearls made me so much happier than the first set.  For one, the whole experience around buying them, but I realized I get a special high when I buy myself things that many women expect men to buy them.  It’s liberating!

As a continuation of my pearl high, my parents bought me a beautiful full strand of pearls for Christmas that came with another set of pearl earrings that matched.  I was really sick on Christmas day this year, so I honestly can’t tell you if I was as excited about getting this strand from my parents as I was about my Hawaiian pearls.  I basically opened them up, smiled, and went back to bed to watch Gossip Girl and sleep the rest of the day.  I do love wearing them, though, and appropriate for the show I watched almost immediately after receiving them, a little Blair Waldorf comes out of me every time I wear my strand of pearls.  In a good way, of course.

My newest addition is my right hand ring from none other than Tiffany’s.  I have wanted a right hand ring since the 2008 marketing campaign by De Beers and The Diamond Trading Company that told women of the world to raise their right hand.  I loved the idea of women buying  a ring to put on their right hand to show what they have accomplished themselves.  Plus, should I ever receive a left-hand ring, I definitely won’t be expecting it to come from Tiffany’s.  Their engagement rings are enormously overpriced.  I am pretty simple in my style, and I didn’t want a ring that would detract.  I love rose gold and wanted just a simple band.  When I was trying rings on, they sold me on a romanticized story of their 175 anniversary metal called Rubedo.  It looks like rose gold, but is a blend of gold, copper, and silver.  Apparently, Charles Lewis Tiffany was some sort of metal innovator, so they wanted to make an alloy in honor of him for the anniversary.  There is a simple brand stamp, along with the year 1837 and Tiffany’s signature.  Perfect for me!  Plus, the high when walking out of that store with my very own blue box tied with a white bow was exhilarating.  Yes, to all cynical marketers, I did fall in to every trap that was set from the 2008 campaign to the white bow, but you can’t take away that feeling.

I’m already plotting my next gift to me.  I’m obsessed with lockets, and I am quite certain it will be in that category.  If I can afford it by then, a Charles Green locket.  Regardless, I love this new little tradition of gifting to myself and I fully recommend it!  It is fabulous!  Even if you have to pull an Audrey and go stare in the window of Tiffany’s every day until you can afford it (even if all you can ever afford is just getting your cracker jack ring engraved), it’s a better feeling than having different men throw diamonds at you simply because you told them to, like Marilyn.  Don’t forget, one of them died tragically, and the other lived a long, classy life!