Whatever Lola wants
Lola gets
And little man, little Lola wants you
Make up your mind to have no regrets
Recline yourself, resign yourself, you’re through
I always get what I aim for
And your heart ‘n soul is what I came for

Whatever Lola wants
Lola gets,
Take off your coat
Don’t you know you can’t win?
You’re no exception to the rule,
I’m irresistible, you fool, give in!…Give in!…Give in!

We gave in. She was irresistible. What can we say…. she wanted us.



Well, we done got married.  I have SO much to write about, and in about one week (or less, fingers crossed, fingers really really tightly crossed to the point of cutting off circulation in said fingers) when the dust settles a little bit around here and I don’t have bathtubs to scrub, clothes to hang, and kitchen utensils in the bathroom because of the enormous lack of storage, I’m going to begin the recap of all things Mr. & Mrs.  Wedding, honeymoon, moving to Arizona to our new Home Sweet Home, and all of the drama that has ensued in typical Coco fashion.

Love you, mean it, bye.

P.S. This is me begging you to pray for my sanity while we move in. Forgive the expression, but can you say 10 pounds of shit in a 5 pound bag??? You now have a vision of what our apartment resembles.  Charming and lovely amidst the rubble, but rubble-y nonetheless. Thank you in advance for your emotional support.

My day in beverages

7 am: Coffee. Mass quantities. In order to survive the 9 am departure for a spur of the moment, cram-3-days-worth-of-work-into-5-hours business trip, I needed it.

9 am: Chai latte in attempt to use the healing properties of tea to channel my inner sane person.

10 am – 1 pm: Water. To note that I chose this beverage for lunch is extraordinarily uncharacteristic while my two colleagues pounded Diet Coke. I’m a traitor, I know, but I was still feeling pure and healthy, and well, optimistic that I could survive the day without the chronic bliss of caffeine.

5:30 pm: Diet Coke. A big, fatty, McDonald’s large. I gave in. Couldn’t resist the DC buzz.

6:30: (Following a scream fest followed by a splotchy chest) Red wine. Couldn’t resist the Malbec buzz.

12:30 am: More red wine. It’s what printing programs and placecards for 5 hours will do to you. Also bridal anxiety will do this to you.  More tonight.

My bladder can’t handle the change in tide around here!!! Literally and figuratively, heh.

Heh heh.



It has been 24 days since I have sit down to blog anything. A story, whether with a happy ending (such as a recap of any of my wonderful showers) or of a sobbing nature (such as my computer is still screwed up from my Little Miss Fix-It syndrome a while back) has yet to find its way into these parts. While I know I’ve never been the world’s most reliable blogger, I think I’ve reached a new low and I thank you now for your understanding. Because you see, in 12 days, I’m getting married.  I officially (not an exaggeration) had to catch my breath after I saw the number 12 on my Facebook Wedding Application while writing this. 12. Do you realize the amount of errands that need to be run, thank you notes that need to be sent, bags that need to be packed, place cards that need to be assigned, favors that need to be assembled and gifts that need to be purchased within those 12 days? I should fall over dead from exhaustion now and save myself the trouble.

But in 12 days, y’all….. Different story.

It’s certainly not that the things that happened in the last 24 days aren’t blog-worthy. I have had some incidents both good and quite ugly that would make fantastic posts, but for my sanity… for my mental health…. for the mental health of my family and almost-but-not-quite-just-give-us-12-more-days-husband, I need to start from this moment and move forward.

I’ll try to come back and give you all an update as to whether I’m still alive or not once or twice in the next 12 days, but ya know, you never know with me. I may have children next time you see me around here, but bear with me… I’m about to be married and unemployed and what does that combination allow for, if not a helluva lot of time to blog??? A whole new breed of storytelling if you will.

So I’ll see you in the next few days. Maybe. Or after I’m a married woman.

Oh heavens.

Houston, we have a problem

We are officially 30-something days away from the wedding, and whoo-boy, does that mean lots of minutia.  Regarding all sorts of tulle and lace and pearls and “is that the right shade of coral?” and “Should we call this pewter or gunmetal?” and other ad nauseam bull-cocky to that effect.  As we near the big hooplah, there are a few (and by a few I do mean twenty zillion) things left on my to-do list, among them: determine a not-cliche way to have guests sign a guestbook.  Fabric bound books are nice.  Signed platters are nice too. Hell, I try to sell brides on that concept every day, with much success usually. It just won’t do for our wedding given the size and in my opinion, the practicality of that option for Stockton and I.  I want to do something that we will be able to revisit in years to come and say, Oh how swell, leave it to your Uncle Buck to tell us about how he’s glad he is that he’s stayed married after all these years because now he has someone who can get in all those tough-to-reach places during his bath.  Nothing like a little romance on your wedding day.  Among my many thought processes came the idea (not so original, I understand, but appropriate and totally doable) to create a photo book on my Mac.  iPhoto has all kinda of fancy books that you can design with photos straight out of your folders and events and with a few clicks of the mouse, and 2 weeks processing plus rush shipping and handling, bada bing, bada boom you have a lovely, hard bound book with your photos in it.

Stockton and I got some beautiful engagement pictures taken a year ago (yes, we’ve been engaged for over a year and still aren’t married {enter hand in shape of gun to head motion}) and figured, LO! What better use for these extremely vain pictures than to create a guest book for our wedding guests to sign! I mean, as awesome as the pictures are, we certainly aren’t going to litter our first home with eleventy dozen pictures of us shooting sexy stares at the camera or putting our hands in each others’ back pockets.  We do have SOME dignity.  We’ll just post them all over Facebook. Oh wait…. already did.  There goes the dignity.

So I am feeling all clever and productive last night when I open iPhoto to get this show on the road and I go through the necessary steps to order my book.  Highlight photos, click “Book” icon… and what have we here?? Nothing???? A list of themes is supposed to appear at this juncture.  Themes like weddings or travel or babies or professional or modern or circus…. themes that help make your book look like it was made by APPLE for God’s sakes.  This is why we are paying a premium for it, after all, no??

I decided it was probably an easy fix, simply reinstall the operating system and the themes will appear back in the application since they appeared to have been deleted from my hard drive.  JUSTTTT in case, though, I backed up my computer. For probably the first time since my freshman year of college (just offering a point of reference here as to my diligent efforts to ward off computer evilness… mind you, my hard drive has crashed twice since then…. unteachable = me).  This morning, first thing when I woke up, I began the reinstall process, starting with my computer’s install discs which came with the machine.  Next on the agenda, I install the newest operating system which was on my computer when I decided to play techno-geek.  But what’s this? Where’s all my data??? Didn’t I select the option that keeps all of my data on the computer and just boosts the behavior of my existing system???? DIDN’T I FOLLOW THE DIRECTIONS??


No. No, I did not. Because now I have a basically brand new computer, which is friggin awesome and fun until you’re all, OMGWTFOMGWTF, where the hell is my guest list!? And all the Courtney Bock Designs stuff I had on my desktop? And.. MY WHOLE LIFE?!?!?!

But remember? I backed up! I’m a good little gehl.  It’s just that I don’t know how to use this damn thing so now I have another machine whirring and buzzing at my like IT is about to take off and orbit the earth leaving behind it a trail of you know, music from the GLEE soundtrack that I just downloaded and ohhh I don’t know, a couple THOUSAND photos that I like to keep around for ya know, life memories.  NBD.

So here I am staring at my computer. Where I used to have a nice photo of my love and I as a background, I now have the photo of a galaxy a la Apple.  Where I once had data, I now have Giga Bites aplenty of nothingness.

I want my computer back. Until further notice, I’m going into computer hibernation because i’m beyond pissed at Steve Jobs and his Apple tomfoolery.

Book Review: Center of the Universe

The Center of the Universe* is a darkly comedic memoir about the craziness that is Lola, author Nancy Bachrach’s off-the-reservation mother.   Following a childhood filled with double you tee eff moments aplenty, plus a fateful (or should I say fatal) accident upon her family’s rickety boat leaving her father dead and her mother in a slow cooked coma, Bachrach learns how to finally accept her mother after years of denial  (Who is this woman and why is she asking me to call her “Mother”??).  A year of Lola’s gibberish and incontinence leaves Bachrach skeptical of any recovery and afraid of what the new Lola will be like considering the old Lola, pre-brain damage, was just about as damaged as they come without the help of a long snooze in her CO1 crypt. Turns out, the carbon monoxide cocktail aboard “Mr. Fix-It” was all Lola needed to come down to Earth, and maybe to a certain degree, finally relinquish her role as The Center of the Universe.

While a lofty read at times, thanks to the author’s umpteen degrees in Philosophy and the medical mess of technical diagnoses, all ultimately describing the mental competency of a Cuckoo bird, this was certainly a book to put on the shelf next to Sedaris and Burroughs.  Authors, mentally and emotionally destroyed by crazy mothers, UNITE!  Prepare yourself for a whole lot of –iatrists, -ologists, -ites, -ates, and -isms as this book is loaded with medical terminology most med students don’t encounter until their third year.

Kick back, grab a dirty martini and a Lithium, and enjoy.

*Highly recommended for those currently convinced that their mothers are crazy. Certainly not why I read it, I’m just sayin….

Honor your father

Where do I even begin this post? I don’t know how to introduce a man who needs no introduction. He is a radiating man who is difficult not to notice because of not only his strikingly handsome looks, but his dynamic and abundant personality that is endearing, charming, and attractive to all.  He can work a room like nobody else I know because he is so stinking likable.  Lovable.

See, I’ve known my dad my whole life, as one may suspect. He has been there for everything. Every recital, every school function, every play, every soccer game, every prom, every vacation.  He has always been present.  And as a father of three girls, I have never once in my entire life heard him wish for another life. Never wished for boys. Never even pushed his girls towards being masculine in our extra-curriculars, forcing us to be athletic when we would’ve rather been musical, or forcing us to play softball when we would rather dance. Never forced his own agenda on us.  Never even really made us feel like there was an agenda other than our own.  I took that for granted when it in full swing, but now, I suppose with maturity, albeit not a whole lot, comes clarity.  I see my dad’s sacrifices and abundant love with 20/20 when before, I simply accepted it as the norm. The expected. I know now how unusual my dad is compared to so many other men his age. For instance, he is the picture of health. This is dad last year after running the Sunburst 10K with Maddie. See how fit and happy he is? Not needing a defibrillator after that???? Most 50 year old men? Not so much.

This is him this year after running twice as far.

I love that orange skittle running machine so much. Turban and all.

My dad has shared so many awesome moments with us, I literally don’t know where to begin and were I to get going, I wouldn’t know where to end.

He blesses us abundantly, just as our Heavenly Father blesses us abundantly. With love, resources, support, and compassion.  I am thankful for my dad more now than ever and  hope that I never take him for granted… he is worth more than gold to me.

Dad, I love you. Happy Father’s Day.