I could eat 1 or I could eat 3. It takes a lot of dogs to satisfy me.

If John Lennon thought "Sexy Sadie" broke all the rules, what did the Matt-LeBlanc- circa-1992 looking club promoter think of yummicoco at Retreat last night--the after party to cousin K's (the original yummi, btw) birthday dinner?



yummicoco: were you mad at me for the hair remark that I made earlier?

He gnarled his teeth and patted me on my head.

I interpreted his behavior as some candy talking.

It was also at the after party that I met a guy who was half ethopian/half saudi arabian but grew up in Sweden and was proud of his tight jeans.

EuroBama: I'm a designer and finance major. I wear tight jeans and everyone thinks I'm gay. But I just say that I dress better than they do.

ok.

Before going to Retreat and before wasting $50 fucking dollars on just yucca and beans at San Cubanos for cousin K's birthday (please stop the birthday dinners people!), I went to a hip hop event that I had no business going to.

Sponsored by another one of many nonsensical urban mags (except this one reads backwards. how prophetic.) and Green Label Art, the party boasted a performance by a special guest.

Was it Kayne? DMX? Hammer?


yummicoco to PR rep: hey, can you tell me who is performing because I have to go soon.

PR rep: it's a surprise.

yummicoco: well, can you tell me when he's performing?

PR rep: well, who says it's a he?

ok.

Ran into two old school cats that Lex and I had previously met at the Hearst Penthouse Party. Fat, unkempt cats that I mistook for losers were actually deeply entrenched in the hip hop world. It was nice to see them.

old school cat #2: whoa, there's chill!

And in rolled actor Chill Mitchell, best known for his stirring performance in House Party.

Moment of Silence for House Party.



In the film, Chill could not stop bumping into the DJ table, much to the chagrin of spin master Dragon Breath Bilal, played by Martin Lawrence.

To see Chill in a wheelchair at the old school event was a big downer to say the least.

Another mood reducer was finding out that the special performance was going to be by EPMD.



yummicoco: oh, I remember when Erick Sermon was on Lisa Williams' Gay Rapper List.

old school #1: Who's Lisa Williams? WENDY Williams, you mean?

yummicoco: oh yeah.

oh yeah.

I love new york

So I am writing to you direct from my new desk at my new job where I get to write and edit and feel self-conscious that no one has ever heard of where I work.

Was supposed to go to Comix's holiday party but skipped it to watch I Love New York instead. Pretty uneventful but I was pleased that NY (aka Tiffany Pollard) opted for the skinny, sticky-faced Tailor Made (aka George Weisgerber) instead of assholeio Buddha.

As I treated myself to blueberry pancakes at Andrew's Coffee Shop this morning, I read TM's exclusive (!) with NY Post. Turns out that TM's swept her off her feet all the way to Queens! No matter what she does, she still has horrible taste in men--or at the very least has bad taste in men who also have bad taste.

"I think the best thing to say is that Tiffany and I don't necessarily follow the rules," Weisgerber told The Post.

Duh.

Pollard moved in with Weisgerber and his 12-year-old daughter Asia shortly after taping for the show was completed last summer.

"They're like peas in a pod," Weisgerber says of his daughter and Pollard. "They've become very close and like to team up and make fun of me."

Whatever, they will be over by the reunion special.




Anyway, cried like a wuss on Friday as I was getting ready to leave my previous job. I even cried into the arms of the business online director and felt incredibly foolish when she told me "don't cry". It reminded me of when I used to overhear her conversations with her 2 year old daughter who was desperately waiting for her to come home from work. Sometimes it's better to go out like a champ.

Anyway, I went by my old office very early this morning to drop off my ID and some paperwork (which I could not do on account of all my silly blubbering) and realized that I was going to be ok and that I was over it.



I'm excited.

I thought I should bring dessert...

So I am leaving my current job. I cried when I quit. I cried for hours afterwards. Lex told me that it was a part of growing up... fabulously of course.

I'm an asshole. So much so that I even showed an acquaintance my clipbook at a bar on Friday night because I was so super pumped.

But whenever I am feeling low, I plan to say the following words 3 times out loud.

Yummicoco: "cupcake contacts"


It's funny how NYC has been decimated by these mini-diabetes-inducing cakes--and now like politics and religion, cupcakes have become divisive.



Sax: ah man, I'd split you some sugar sweet if you wanna go.

Yummicoco: no!

We bought a bar of 85% dark chocolate instead.







Going to Miami tomorrow for a wedding.

When BGA asked me what hotel I was going to for the weekend, I shuttered.

Yummicoco: I don't know, Holiday Inn.

Is it more embarrassing to stay at econo-friendly lodging than to boast contacts and clipbooks?

Either way, I am an asshole...fabulously of course!

The Shape of a Mother

Listening to Beirut's Gulag Orkestar and reading jezebel.com and got a twinge of inspiration.

Will this really happen to me when I start pooping out kids?


Kind of a fucked up outcome, especially since I have worked so hard to lose my college weight so that I could meet a guy that would want to fuck then subsequently marry me. To think that I would become rubberwoman after shooting out spawn gives me the hibby gibbies.

But then again my child could be born with 8 legs...



so what's worst?


How about the fact that Sandra Day O'connor's husband has left her for another woman as a result of a serious case of alzheimer's. At his treatment facility, he connected with another patient and forgot all about his real wife who he had been married to since 1952.



"Mom was thrilled that Dad was relaxed and happy and comfortable living here and wasn't complaining," their son said.

Fucked up, yo!

Kind of makes it harder to be a robot when there is so much potential to be hurt out there in the world.

"We live in an era in which we've convinced ourselves that nearly any behavior is okay, as long as we're up front about it," the Observer's Doree Shafrir recently wrote, about the trend of journalistic self-branding.

So should we just forgive and forget? Should we just try to make every effort to be happy? Should Lauren Conrad just take that big dildo out of her ass and just start hanging out with Heidi again?

Can't wait until this week is over.

ladies of the evening

I am dressed in all black like the omen today. Shopped at Zara for more black attire not because I am depressed and channeling my inner gothic but because I am trying to look a bit more sophisicated and polished for something something.

Anyway, several months ago at Hiro, I saw Meow Meow. Part of her schtick is that she is a drunken, drug addicted waifish mess that demands her audience in an almost S&M fashion to undress her and hold her mike. She's fab! Go see her this weekend. When I talked to her on the phone today, I did not reveal my admiration and the fact that I unsnapped her bra at the Hiro show.

Saw the show with my friend KKegel who is now is North Carolina and won't be back for years.

Sax: Your one true friend

yummicoco: yeah

Alright, ok!

A couple of months ago, I received an e-mail from someone who read somewhere that I was a blogger. When she asked me to forward her my url addy, I immediately shuddered, thinking, "should I send my crappy url when my last post from 6 months ago was 'I hate dominicans'?" I chickened out and sent her a couple of clips instead.

Watched this video with co-workers the other day and would like to share this with you now.



Go see American Gangster if you have not yet. Denzel gives great performance as Frank Lucas--the most buttoned up drug dealer who owned Harlem in the 70s and was swiftly brought down by the man "because he disturbed the natural order of the drug trade".

A man of understated elegance that made the mistake of attending a Joe Louis boxing match wearing this atrocious item:



Good movie.

Anyway, its Day 7 of the lemonade cleanse and I feel good.

Today my heart swings

Is today the day that Interpol releases "Our Love to Admire"? Video sucks and the song is just ok. I still love them.

Ya Feel Me?

So Jane closed up shop which is bittersweet and answers a few questions that I have had for a couple of months now. I am so insulated that I constantly have to remind myself that it's not all about me.

Anywoo, for the past few days, I've had the same hot pink nail polish from Manic Panic Claw Colors on my left thumb and it's finally chipping away.



I just can't seem to bring up enough nerve to rub it out with remover.

Found out at my "super 'it's not a birthday but it is a birthday party, it's not a birthday party' media event with no purpose" (featuring Boru Vodka, New Century Brewing among others) that my old boss is now micro-managing just two publicists, including one intern! I want to hook people up as he is great to learn PR from but but he hates me so I don't want to ruin their chances. But then again, that's my thinking process.

Which brings me to The Secret,the book that has been scaring my brain with bullshit since late May.

Sax: stop fucking quoting The Secret!

I can't stop. "Thoughts bring things" and there are a few things that I want to have happen so living "the secret" has been so important to me that I have been willing to disregard its ridiculousness and focus on what good it could bring me.

Or maybe I should just ask a pumpkin? Is it me or is James Chamberlain still hot after all these years on her-ron?

You like this shit now

Just read this story about faux vegan Isa Chandra Moskowitz getting busted adding a slice of kraft cheese to her burrito.

As a recent convert to the v-life, I feel a little scandalized but I understand the struggle. I just ate one and one half cupcakes from Sugar Sweet Sunshine for someone's going away party this afternoon.

Yummicoco: I know I'm a hypocrite!

Another sell out reveled in the blog entry was the attractive-challenged woman up at the top of this post, forsaking v-life for some chicken nuggets out of frustration for the rising prices at Whole Foods and the judgments she's received from others for not being vegan enough.

Attractive-challenged woman: There's no judgments at Popeyes!

Why do people give up when shit gets rough? Is it really all that bad that you have to turn to processed meats and cupcakes? Is it now punk rock to eat corporate Kraft cheese instead of organic?

Whole Foods Bowery at 10:50pm

Surrounded by huge windows looking out onto lower Manhattan, this super store symbolizes a new and richer faux-bohemia. It feels like Dash Snow.



Even though this city is no longer the gritty, creative hotbed it once was, I still can't imagine living anywhere else. But I am finding it harder to be an individual.

Anyway, this is more fun.

Dominicans Suck!

In the Daily News this morning:

"While we love Baby Jessica as our own, we are reminded of this terrible mistake each and every time we look at her," the Commack couple said in documents filed in Manhattan Supreme Court. "It is simply impossible to ignore."

So, the parents claim that an upper east side fertility clinic botched the in-vitro treatment and their second child was created with the wrong jizz.

Yes, the fact that the clinic fucked up and impregnated the mother with sperm that was not from her husband was totally wrong. But it just figures that as soon as the dominican mother noticed that her daughter was darker than everyone else in the family, she immediately bought a home DNA testing kit. God forbid that her child be dark-skinned! DR has worked really hard to as my dad would say "blanchir le race". My dad partied with Trujillo's nephew when my grandfather was stationed along the Haiti/DR border. He thinks that they play their music way too loud. As a whole, we don't like DR because of their ignorance and cruelty towards Haitians. Also, they have no class.

So basically, fuck you, Dominican Republic! You can run but you can't hide from being negroes! And, you better be nice and love your browner baby, lady, because she is still your daughter and she probably got the "brown gene" from you.

On a lighter note, I love Lily Allen's Alright, Still!

Don’t go too far now that you are just nostalgic for lost time

Went here last night for Valentine's Day. Bought Sax his and her's ping pong paddle set and a memo pad that reads "don't fuck this up" on top.

I received a black sheer something that made me feel like a Two Live Crew hoochie



Sax: So, lets go bone and then go play ping pong!

Teach each other to reciprocate: I miss the comfort in being sad

So what the fuck, New York Times, I'm a BLIPSTER?

Help divide people even further why don't you, assholes!

When I interviewed French actress Julie Delpy this weekend (issue comes out in May--to coincide with the release of her film, Two Days), she talked about wanting to be viewed as a filmmaker and not just some woman director.

I agree. I want people to see me as me (yummicoco), not a fucking Blipster.

Going back to the Times article, the piece touched on how more and more coloreds are turning to the Rock (dressing like it too) and how people are starting to take notice:


NY Times:

THE recent attention given several bands with black members — like Bloc Party, Lightspeed Champion, and the Dears — could signify change. “Return to Cookie Mountain,” the second album by the group TV on the Radio, a band in which four of the five members are black, was on the best-album lists of many critics in 2006. Around the country, other rock bands with black members are emerging."

They failed to include Arcade Fire, The Thermals, and oldies like Fishbone, Bad Brains and Son of Cain of course--my much older cousin Herwin's punk band from like 1983.

I grew up listening to my sisters' new wave records, programming 120 minutes (and Alternative Nation AND Headbanger's Ball) so that I could watch it immediately after school every Monday (and reading Sassy magazine)-- How is my experience any different than any other stupid kid feeling like an outsider? I was a Jersey girl surrounded by guidos, I was unusual any way you sliced me.

Why must I be pigeon holed into yet another label that I feel takes away from one's experience--gives off the impression that me and many others like me are all new to the game--that we just started liking Rock music-- perhaps it goes as far as to imply that we are less black for being Blipster.

Is gentrification the direct cause of this profliferation?

Well, one memory I have of being prejudiced against (you be the judge) was when I attempted to purchase 'Houdini' by the Melvins at an airport record store when I was 14 while I was waiting for my flight to Greece (HS class trip).

Punk Bitch: Are you sure you want to buy this? Like, you know what your buying right?

Yummicoco: yeah, I know who they are-Buzz was a big influence on Kurt Cobain.

Buzz from The Melvins. Undercover black man? He looks like someone that could be in my family...minus the deranged look on his face.



Then she felt stupid cuz I schooled her on my knowledge and then she pointed out that they did a cover of a Kiss song on the album to save face.

Got to Athens, bought Jawbox "For Your Own Special Sweetheart" and Soundgarden's "Superunknown" cuz the song "She likes Surprises" was only available on import.

Returned to New Jersey on April 8, 1994 to find out that Kurt Cobain killed himself with a gun. Cried all the way home.

Jacqueline Depestre and the Passion of Colette

Today is my mother's 68th birthday. She married my dad January 1960. She was still in nursing school in Canada and my dad was interning at a Jewish hospital in Harlem. They moved back to Haiti to start a family after the wedding. She was 24.

Now that I am her age, I feel like I am 16 years old with raging hormones and conflicting emotions. Last night, two assholes called me in the span of an hour. One that I will call NoNOb for obvious reasons (his cowardice, of course) and the other, the infamous MARC SICILANO, who just can't take a hint...

MARC: "I FEEL LIKE I DID SOMETHING WRONG"..

MARC left a long pathetic message on my voicemail. What's so sad about it is that I felt sorry for him. My plan all week has been to tell him the words that I have been dying to tell any asshole, the words that would assert my playerdom for the rest of my dating career....

WE WON'T BE SEEING EACH OTHER ANYMORE.

That was my sister SANDRA's signature line during her NYC dating years and last month she passed that torch to her baby sister. "You've got to cut them off right away" she said. "Don't waste your time".

So there I was talking to FLORA and MARC SICILANO called.

COLETTE: Shit (recognizing the 773 area code), I think he's calling me. I am not picking that up.

I clearly chickened out.

My fear is that once I say the fatal words, he will retaliate with a venim so strong that I will just burst into tears thus losing my upper hand...

FUCK YOU. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU ARROGANT, INSECURE BITCH.

I wouldn't have a response for something like that.

SANDRA: Just make sure that when you say those words, you better own them. Mean it.

I feel like if I picked up his call, I would have agreed to DATE # 3 in order to avoid asserting myself. I wonder if my mom regretted date # 1 with my dad....

They were neighbors in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. My mom grew up in a strict Protestant household. She was never allowed to date. My dad was the third son out of six boys and one girl. My dad and his brothers all liked my mom. She was hot. NoNOb agreed when I showed him an old picture of her a couple of months ago in my room...

What sealed the deal for my parents to be allowed to date was the fact that my dad arranged for my mother to go to nursing school in Canada. Her mother was impressed so she gave my mother permission to date him. Did my mother want to go to nursing school? Did she really have the hots for my dad or was it that she just did not have a choice? I think that she told me once that she wanted to be a writer and study at the Sorbonne in Paris.

***ITS NOT EVEN WORTH IT***

FLORA told me not to call back. Just ignore him. Why am I obsessing over this?

***NoNOb IS A LONG STORY***

So now its midnight, as I tuck myself into bed... deep under the covers, cats are finally out of my room and I am slowly drifting off to sleep, I feel my phone vibrate....Its NoNOb.

I shut off my phone and went to sleep.

My Candle Burns at Both Ends

and I don't think that it will make it through the night....

I don't pretend to know everything. I know I know nothing. I know that people know I that know nothing. I talk out of my ass because basically all that I know about life came from Dawson's Creek and what my family told me I was supposed to believe. The line above comes from an Edna St. Vincent Millay poem. Am I quoting her correctly? No. Do I care to check online for the correct quotation? No. Am I using the word "quotation" correctly? Maybe. Will this blog totally suck ass? Yes. Will there be grammatical errors? Yes. Will there be pictures? No. Will you think that I am lame and ridicule my self indulgence? Perhaps. Maybe it will keep you interested.

I am long winded, aloof. I believe in love and God, and I believe in myself. I am a hopeless romantic.

To me, Edna's words speak to obvious things... the fast life of New York... hooking up with strange Indian men behind the exit sign of a club called EXIT... my frustrations... the unbearable lightness of being. Time moves so quickly, its hard not to want to drown yourself in your own bathwater to stop your head from spinning. Death is too easy. Lacks drama. I'd rather be destroyed by the excitement. Do I really mean that? No. I have no idea what I want out of life. I am afraid of failure.

Before you completely write me off and not want to read this ever again...Let's begin with the brief origins of YUMMICOCO...

Paris 2001--my daddy, ALIX(pronounced AA-Leeics) paid for me to spend the first half of the summer in Paris at my cousins' flat in the 15th.

So, I was talking to my sisters, SANDRA and FRANCOISE, on speaker phone late one night. My cousin, MICHAELLE, yelled out from the bathroom in the back of the living room/bedroom/one room shitty apartment that my sister SANDRA had been avoiding her AOL Instant messages quite rudely. Her screenname was YUMMIKIKA...

"Well, I thought it was porno or something". SANDRA said. She jumps to conclusions about everything. She is in therapy now.

"No, c'etait moi, SANDRA. No porno."

We laughed. It was all very lame. But I thought that her name was so so cutesy so I said...

"I'll be YUMMICOCO, then" Always talking out of my ass. My friend, PICKLE, thinks that I am uncomfortable with comfortable silence...

YUMMIKIKA's brother, CHRISTIAN (16) found this all very amusing....

"COLETTE, you know what coco means in Creole right?" he asks. We are Haitian but I don't speak Creole so of course I said no...

pussy

perfect.