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Saturday, January 26, 2013

depicting self

so this post has been haunting me for the past few weeks. i've written different intros. they fizzled out. i became absorbed in club stuff. i wrote another intro. i took a nap. the post went un-posted.

even now, i'm struggling to find the words and thread of these thoughts, but i'm pushing through, because a. i actually have a few hours of free time today. and b. the this post i'm talking about (you know, this one) is all about self.

this past week, my uber-extraordinaire agent asked me to write up a few blurbs about my works in progress. while both mysteries of sorts, on the surface, the manuscripts are night and day books. teen high school drama vs. period piece bizarreness. but when i thought about the main characters, it was obvious i'd written about two people who were very much trying to figure themselves out.

and when i thought about that, i realized all the books i've written to date have had that same theme.

now, i'm not trying to get all deep. every novel is about characters trying to sort out their shite. still, why was i obsessed with it? the common thought is write about what you know. and even though i don't at all endorse that saying (seriously), clearly girlfriend is infatuated with introspection.

so i did what anyone would do upon having these (not at all) deep thoughts. i Google imaged myself.

*disclaimer: truth be told, i Google imaged myself at least a week in advance of the WIP excercise to make sure there weren't any boogery images of me out there, but for the purpose of this blog post, first i had the deep thoughts, then i did the funny search.*

now, i know we've all Googled ourselves. but have you ever Google imaged yourself? i found a world of Corrie Wachob that i never knew existed.

i mean, i knew this was me:

hiiiii bangs.
and i know some blondies are hard to tell apart, but um, last time i checked, this wasn't me:


and yes please, but for real? not in a million years:


while i was scrolling, i kept thinking, what if this isn't random, but it's a cosmic, techie, fortune telling, horoscopy kind of thing that is depicting the true me. while the mega amount of hair model images is a debatable equation (i mean, Dear Google i haven't washed my hair in a week and these knots ain't going nowhere), the fact that i love dancing in big groups in sweaty gyms is not a debatable equation.


and i do tend to do crazy, spontaneous...tumbling routines?


okay, maybe not so much. but scrolling through, i kept making happy gasping noises. smattered amidst the tiny head shots of smiley people who i don't know at all and mean nothing to me:


were images of people that mean the world to me. my sis has an amazing web presence. but to my knowledge, we aren't linked through it. so it's like Google just knows that any image representation of Corrie Wachob isn't complete without some representation of her family.

you all know my sis is an
amazing artist, si?
likewise, inserted between all the Etsy-esque drawings of birds, Google placed pics of a big sum of the sum of my parts -- photos of sum of the terrific friends that i've been blessed with along the way.

senor jared.

senorita ellen

senorina amy

and how google attached me to my wonderful
friend anna, i have no idea. this is a super old
photo of her, right around when we first met. weird.

so the point in all this? exactly. now you see why the blog post kept going un posted.

but as my life has done a wonderful, whirlwind 180 in the span of a few short weeks, you can't help thinking about what that all means, and what you all mean, and you can't help feeling so frickin' lucky. to the point that you see all those random tiny headshots of smiling asian ladies under your name and you think, they must be there because life is so awesome.

and by you i mean me. but according to Google images, you are me. especially if you're this guy:

corrie wachob, she's a cheetah.
oh god, phonetically it sounds like, cheat-ah.
not true! okay, that one time...no, what?
i mean, corrie wachob, she's fast.
pfft. forget the cat analogies.
this is why i like dogs.

and that's a wrap.

Friday, January 11, 2013

doing without

there's no nice way to say it.

blogger is being a dick.

it won't let me post pictures. so imagine my annoyance when yesterday i decided to crack open the fortune cookie that's been sitting on my kitchen counter for over a week convinced that it was my perfect fortune for right that second and the cookie said: One door closes and another opens, and I laughed out loud because it was so perfectly true and i thought, i'll post a picture of the fortune on my blog with a quirky one sentence line referencing Reading Rainbow and once again...BLOGGER WOULDN'T LET ME.

like i said, dick.

(okay. agreed. the language isn't at all appropriate for a YA market, but come on, 50 percent of us have them, and another 15 percent of us is (are?) one, so censors - tranquilo).

being the emotionally mature woman that i am, i know that every bump in the road is a personal affront against me, so naturally, last night my mind wandered to all the reasons blogger wouldn't post my pictures: maybe even blogger has something against my $45 a month cheapy smart phone and it was giving me a lesson in you get what you pay for. (when does bigger is better not apply? when it's talking about pixels) or maybe blogger is holding a grudge because i chose to keep the tacky wallpaper background for my blog and never upgraded to, i dunno, post-modern white.

but onward! like cream in coffee, who needs pictures on a blog? (um.... wait, i'm also out of cream?!) it works just as well without.

and now, my week in (non-pictorial) review.

maybe it's not a good thing to tell your hairdresser, screw it. let's use bleach on those roots and really lighten them up!! on the other hand, i always did want to have cartoon character yellow hair:

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yum yum...what's that you're eating? why it's an ice cream cone of sushi:

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guess where i might be going this weekend? one word, weeeeeeee:

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okay. fine. blogging doesn't work as well without pictures. not at all. just as my cup of coffee right now is really, very disgusting without cream. but that doesn't change the fact that my fortune cookie was true. when one door closes, as is my case these past few weeks, about a THOUSAND open. and life becomes so wonderful, you don't even give a darn when web platforms that are supposed to be simplifying your life and making you accessible to the world, decide instead to act like a dickhead.

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yup. that's how she ended that one.

Thursday, January 3, 2013

new year jobs

long story short?

i quit the job that i'd been at for almost five (holy cow) years and began managing a three story night club on the Lower East Side.

ta-dah. how's that for concise?

do i have experience managing a night club? no.

am i working double the time for way less money than my previous job? sure.

so much so that i took on a second job at a restaurant where we do sake shots when we're stressed and the boys in the kitchen feed me sushi all night? wait. what was the question?

either way, i changed my life. it is better. i'm learning a lot. and so i shall now pass along a few prime nuggets of wisdom garnered from being all up in da' club.

BOUNCERS ARE REALLY INTERESTING PEOPLE. some of the wackiest conversations in my life have been in the last few months and they've all taken place with men i have to jump two feet in the air to high five. seriously. talk to someone new this week. experiences and perspectives outside your own are fantastic to be around. and/or. befriend a 6 foot 10, three hundred fifty pound man. remember ladies: big man = big personality. your life will be zanier and more enjoyable for it.

CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF, NIGHTCLUBS ARE NOT ABOUT COKE IN BATHROOMS. they're about puke on floors.

YOU CAN ADJUST TO GOING TO BED AT 6AM TWO NIGHTS A WEEK. and if that's possible people, then you, we, i can do anything. i promise.

EVEN IN A DANCE CLUB, PEOPLE DON'T DANCE. i suppose it depends on the night, but it's kinda rare that i see people get all sweaty dance dancing. sad. terribly sad, but true. i didn't, however, say that they don't grind their (or someone else's) asses off.

CLUB LIFE IS GOOD FOR THE SOUL. i love my life. i am blessed. we are young, so we set the world on fire. call me maybe. okay, well maybe not all the music the club plays is spiritually uplifting (and no, i'm not hyperlinking the carly jepson song), but it makes you bounce on your feet and it plays in your head for days on end and, in general, it's happy making. sure, there are songs with the chorus of ass ass ass ass [kids beware: that hyperlink is DIRTY and CURSE-Y] and i find myself inserting the words shot shot shot shots into everyday conversations, but my family learned The Wobble at New Years and we giggled our ass ass ass asses off while doing it.

in summation: do it. take that chance. make that leap. live a frickin' little and every now and then dance until you're sweaty dance. because not enough people are. also, if you see something that looks like chunky petroleum jelly on the floor, for goodness sake, step around it. most likely, it's puke.