Flight of the Wendy Bird

A few months back I began to prepare for the completion of my graduate degree by searching for open employment opportunities, but I found myself profoundly unmotivated to update my resume or make active efforts to embark upon my career.  So, as a method of forcing myself into the waters I applied for the very first job opening I encountered working with my preferred population.  To be quite honest, it was a job I didn't want. It represented a step into the pool for me.  It pushed me to update my resume, and practice my application responses.  I was still in school and completing my clinical internship.  My availability was remarkably limited which removed all the pressure of the process.  In fact, I made a point to note that my lack of availability in at least three separate locations throughout my resume and application submission.  If I were looking to hire, I would have thrown my cover letter out.

I was, of course, astonished when I received a call to arrange an interview.  She described a rigorous interview process that involved a 30 minute writing activity and a case consultation.  Having never experienced such an intense process, I rationalized that this would be good practice.  Again, I didn't want the job.  The pressure was low.

Before I knew it I was called for a second interview involving a mock case presentation and participation in clinical rounds.  I started to feel nervous.  I still didn't want the job, but I was becoming intrigued by the process and I was afraid I was wasting the agency's time.  Knowing I wasn't going to take this job, I decided to just relax and enjoy the experience.  So, when I found myself seated at a table with 12 skills trainers, therapists, program managers, and clinical directors, I didn't really flinch.  I answered every question honestly; revealing my strengths and exposing my weaknesses.  I was comfortable and unconcerned.  This is why, when a loud and energetic man jokingly asked me what my favorite cartoon was, I didn't even bother to let him finish asking "why" before startling him with my response.

I explained that I loved most cartoons, children's stories, and super hero tales because of the allegories inherent within them, but that one stood out among the rest: Peter Pan.  I went on to state that I truly believed this story was a beautiful metaphor for what it means to grow up.  I monologued for nearly 10 minutes about the narrative of a boy without a mother who battles adults as he refuses to grow.  The room became silent as I went on and on about the captivation of Wendy as she is pulled between a world where she has to grow up and one that won't let her.  I wound down with an explanation of Wendy's ultimate decision to have one foot in both worlds.  Crickets chirped, but before the awkwardness set I verbally lunged forward with excitement. "OH!" I started, "and did you guys know that the author of Peter Pan had failure to thrive syndrome?!"  With this exclamation, I surged onward with a lecture about J.M. Barrie's traumatic childhood, and his stunted physical development.  I explained how the novel was a tribute to his deceased older brother who's reputation forever shadowed him in the eyes of his emotionally abusive mother.

All 12 faces stared speechlessly at me as I finished my soliloquy.  My individual discourse had left the entire panel with no apparent segue for completing the interview.  Amused with my socially awkward tendency, I did the only thing I could do.  I called it for them.

"Obviously I could go on and on about this topic," I said.  "I love children's stories, and I appreciate their ability to give insight to the human condition.  So...great question!"

Now, three months later, I call that confounded panel of professionals my coworkers.

Putting It All Out There

For nearly a year now I have been interested in tracking my blog statistics. Given that I apparently want to be famous when I grow up, my statistics are not as great as I would like them to be.  This perplexes me. I mean, I think I have something to say, and that it is worth taking two minutes out of your Facebooking routine to read.  However, it's becoming increasingly evident that I am wrong about this.  I'm not happy with this realization, and I would like to change the circumstances that have led up to it.

I thought that maybe emulating my most popular posts might be a good place to start.  So, I did a little research.  I was surprised, and subsequently embarrassed at what I found.  My most popular (by far) post, is from a few years ago. It's a neurotic little rant about a crappy day that I had when I was underemployed.  I definitely consider it to be a sub par post. It's poorly written, and I'm actually quite disappointed with it. In fact, I'm not even going to link you to it. That's how strongly I feel about this.  However, and this is completely beyond my comprehension, it has drawn a lot of attention. This particular post (find it on your own if you're so curious) surpasses all of my others in readership.

Now, I find myself in a blogger's predicament. Do I replicate that whiny uninsightful window into my past just to gain attention? Or do I stick to my plan, muse about the world and the various aspects of growing up within it, while simultaneously coming to grips with my less than desirable reader counts? I mean, who is this really for?

I find it especially hard to make this decision when the only feedback I receive comes from my mom. Her unfailing support is nice, but not exactly helpful (love you mom). So, I've decided to do something that makes me completely uncomfortable......

I'm just going to put it out there, and ask for your attention for a moment.

If you find yourself clicking on my link today can you help me out? First, thank you for momentarily abstaining from your Facebook addiction.  I know how hard that is, and I appreciate you for doing it.  Now, leave me a comment.  Tell me what you thought.  If you truly like it, subscribe. If you're not sure, click around.  See what I have to say. Here are some posts I'm especially proud of:

Expose Yourself
Meaningful Moments
Steve the Housefly
My Own Personal Undertoad
My Anonymous Childhood Boyfriend


After you've done that, and you just can't stand to be away from Facebook any longer (let's face it, that's what's really going on here), go ahead and go back.  But, when you do: share a link to your favorite post (it'll make my day), or "like" and follow Mindy's Musings. Because if you don't do one, or any, of the above...I might have to do something even more obnoxious to get your attention, but I promise that it will bother me more than it bothers you.

Evolution of A Childish Aspiration

When I was just a little girl, I wanted to grow up to become a chemist. I wasn't entirely sure what that meant, but I knew I liked mixing things together to see what happened. So, I told everyone that I was going to go to Stanford, and one day I would impress the world with my chemical skills.

Later on, I adjusted my dream. I began to participate in community theater. I pranced about a poorly ventilated room, in a stifling cowardly lion costume in the middle of a heat wave, and told myself that one day I was going to be discovered. Filling various background and secondary character roles, I made believe that I was astonishingly important. I told myself that someday, someone incredible was going to see me and know that I was destined for the world stage.

In my adolescence, I began to sing. I was in choirs, and the occasional musical. Every so often I'd have a brief solo, but nothing momentous. Mostly, I just stood in the front row (for height reasons  ̶  don't get excited), and blended the discordant voices. Nevertheless, I had my dreams. In my world, a famous relative of a classmate would pick my voice out from the chorus, and ask me to sing with them. That, or an unknown music executive would hear my latest Car-eoke session (it's a thing), and think "give that girl a record deal." After all, I am a rock star behind the steering wheel.

Now I'm an adult, and I'm pursuing a grown-up career. I've moved beyond my childish dreams of fame resulting out of mediocrity. Instead, I'm electing to make an impact on a smaller, less appreciated, scale. Meanwhile, I'm going home to my computer, and writing about my experiences. I post my thoughts, and interpretations to a blog, and link it to the social media world in the hopes that someone, somewhere, will notice and appreciate my skill.

But, that's different.

And I Thought I was Studious

Image found here

It's the return of the exam experience.  Last Wednesday, I was given a take home exam for my research methods class.

"Yes!" I thought to myself. "I'll be able to work on this in my own comforting environment.  I'll sound like a genius!"

Think again.  I didn't get a chance to really look at it until two days ago.  I brought it to my parents house, with all my books, only to discover that I needed easy access to files on my computer.  Not there.  So, I scribbled down some notes, and wrote a half decent answer to one of the ten questions.

Yesterday I took the 1.5 hour MAX ride to school, and hungout there all afternoon in hopes that I would be able to get some stuff done.  I did, but none of the study rooms were open, so I was awkwardly balancing my stuff on a couch in the lounge, with no access to an outlet, and worried that my laptop would die.  Despite that, I answered one question, and jotted down some notes to a second question.

This morning I thought, "I'm gong to get this damned thing out of the way!"  I got up early, and rode my bike the the local library, only to discover that it's not open until noon.

GARH!

But, I was already out and about, so I figured I'll just ride over to the local coffee shop, buy something cheap (which I can't afford) and pound out some responses.

When I arrived, there were no open outlets.  Almost all the tables were full, and there was a damn toddler group happening in the corner.

Ordinarily, I would think this toddler group was the greatest thing ever. It's a man and a women dressed outrageously (one's a fire fighter, the other a pirate).  They're loudly reading books, and singing songs.  They're blowing up balloon animals (and subsequently popping them with their tiny little fingernails), and the cutest little tykes are running around squealing at everything.  It's fantastic...except when you're trying to write a take home essay, about research methods, with the hope of sounding at least partially educated.  Add to that the general coffee making sounds, and the fact that my battery is nearly dead.

I can't focus on this stuff.  I'm sure I sound like an imbecile, and I'm probably going to turn in something that my professor deems worthy of ejection from the program. At this point, I've fully answered one question, and written down some inattentive vague responses to two other questions.  I have 10 questions total, I only need to answer 8 of them, but at the rate I'm going, I'm probably better off answering them all.

Is it possible to avoid taking this exam all together? Or, you know maybe I could just catch a freaking break in the study department.

**If you like my ramblings, let me know by commenting below, or becoming a follower (right hand side bar)**

Checking My Own ID

I am finding that my life is comprised of a series of surreal experiences in which I seem to have tricked people into thinking I'm an adult.

Last week, I attended my first day of class for my masters program (weird right?). I was driving to school thinking to myself, "this has got to be a mistake.  Someone has made a serious error here. No way do I qualify to be doing this." Part of me wanted to turn right around, and hide in my apartment until someone realized that my application was all an elaborate lie. This spurred the reemergence of a similar reaction: I have my own apartment?! How is that possible?

Something is not right here.  At some point, in the last few years, I became an adult. Or that's what I'm told anyway. I'm not entirely convinced.

Inside, I feel like a 14 year old girl stuck between childhood and maturity. Maybe I haven't been given the appropriate time to sit back and reflect on my experiences, but it seems almost accidental that I've gotten to where I am. Hell, I'm just coming to grips with the fact that I can drive! I feel like I'm breaking some kind of rule whenever I order a drink, and I can't even fathom that I have a college degree.  When did that happen?

History would show that I fully qualify to be where I am in life, but my psyche disagrees. What is that about? Is this a lack of confidence? An over reliance on my parents? Or simply a manifestation of my anxiety?

Whatever it is, it's confusing. I can't be old enough for this! It seems absurd to think that I can live my life on my own. This is my first time doing this, and most of the time I'm lost. I yearn for the guidance given to the youth. Where's the template for how to live my life?  Who is going to spell out my expectations, or provide me with an outline for daily living? I need a hand to hold, and a safety net to fall back on.

Then the Nerves Set In.

Location: Apartment
Mood: Introspective

I'm feeling a bit anxious in the soul and also my chest area.
This happens whenever I make a decision, particularly a big one. It makes it really hard for me to judge if I'm making the right one.
Is my chest fluttering because I'm excited, or am I nervous? It's hard to tell when the decision is not easily made, and has both positive and negative aspects to either choice.

Um, Wow

Location: Salem
Mood: aggravated

I had an interview today. It’s not the first interview since my last installment, but it’s the first worth saying anything about. (The last went okay).

This is for a professional therapeutic company that shall remain nameless. I applied for some open positions that I found online. I got VERY LITTLE information about the position and the company. However, my application for a Residential Counselor got pushed through, and I was asked to come in and meet with the associate director (a woman named Tami). I set up the interview a week ahead of time. Then I attempted to learn what I could about the organization in order to prepare myself.

I couldn’t find anything.

So, at this point I’m thinking this interview could go several different ways. It could be a residential counselor for nutbars, or it could be really interesting and not at all scary. It could be a glorified ass-wiper, or it could be just what I need. No idea.

I wake up this morning, and I have a freaking rash on my face! It was around my mouth (and no I didn’t do anything pervy to get it), so it’s right where you can’t hide it and the interviewer is going to be looking. So, that’s a great start to my day. I’m already apprehensive about what this job even is, and now I’ve got rash-mouth. I’m thinking I’m going to be SUPER impressive (in case you can’t tell, I’m being SARCASTIC).

The interview is in Salem, so I left two hours early. This gives me about 45 minutes to get lost and find the place. On the way down I thought I was getting pulled over two different times. Luckily I only THOUGHT I was getting pulled over, and the cops drove right past me. I’ve never been pulled over though, and this causes my heart rate to sky rocket. So, I’m nervous and freaking out.

When I arrive in Salem, Gloria PeuterSchmidt decides to go all weirdo on me and tell me to turn left when she clearly meant right...twice. When I finally got myself in the right direction (I’m not even sure how I figured out that she was tricking me), I drove right past a gas station and she says “You have arrived.”....
...
...
At a gas station? Um, Gloria, no way in hell did I just drive down to Salem to interview at a freaking Arco! Of course, this is an area of town that is one-way streets only. So, I wind up driving around the block about 1500 times. Finally I decide to call the place. So I pull over and look at my notes to get the phone number.

Yeah, I didn’t write a number down (let this be a lesson to anyone who ever finds themselves in my position). It’s now 12:55 and my interview is at 1pm. I know I have some email correspondences with a woman who works here. So I call home to have someone check my email for me.

No answer.
I call my mom’s cell phone.
No answer.
Dad, no answer. Sean’s out delivering food for the YMCA or something.

I tried calling my sister, but I thought this was a long shot because she never answers her phone. One ring later Amber answers her phone! She’s sitting at her computer! So she logs into my G-mail, finds out I’m at the right place, and gets the number for me. THANK GOD FOR AMBER!!!

Turns out Gloria kept telling me the building was on the right hand side of the road when it was actually on the left. Needless to say, Gloria and I are not exactly speaking right now.

I got there at 5 after 1, and had a nice little chat with the receptionist. Then two guys come to get me. I guess I’m not interviewing with this Tami woman. I’m interviewing with two guys, and one of them is VERY attractive.

So, here I am at this interview for a job I know nothing about, sitting across from a full on hotty, and I’ve got a freaking rash on my face!

They tell me about the job. I guess it involves helping sexually aggressive males. Yikes! Now I’m thoroughly frightened, but I listen hoping it gets better. It does, but not much. The pay is VERY little considering what they ask of you. If I’m offered it, I’ll probably have to turn it down because the pay doesn’t justify relocating to Salem.

One of these days I’ll find the perfect job.

Mysterious Interview

I had an interview today. If I’m being totally honest, it was a job I didn’t want in the first place. It was working for a facility that cares for adults with developmental disabilities, and I was worried that I was going to be a professional ass-wiper. Harsh, but true. Did you know that people who do that usually make minimum wage?!

Anyhow, the interview is at 10am. It’s 15 minutes (maximum) from my house. I leave as half hour early.

Armed with my new best friend Gloria PeuterSchmidt, I can find anywhere in the world! Or so I thought.

The place doesn’t exist. I spoke with someone on the phone, they gave me this address. I looked it up before I left. Same address. I drove to the location of this address, and no facility exists there.

There was a business complex where this place should have been. So, I entered the complex, and drove around under the assumption that one of the tenants was this facility...nope. Nothing.

I called them. No answer.

Now I’m curious.

The Things That Hapen to Me

Location: Home
Mood: giggly
 

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I seem to be a magnet for a certain type of experience. I can’t complain too much...Well, that’s a lie. I can complain all I want, but these things do make my life more interesting.

I had a job-interview-type thingy on Monday. It had just snowed, but I need a job so bad that I figured I’d brave it. So, I get in my base-line, no frills, Toyota Corolla, and attempt to climb my way out of our inclined cul de sac. I manage to turn around and begin the incline, but as I hit the top I reach a patch of ice. It was almost like a lip that sealed our cul de sac off from the intersecting street.

I revved my engine to manage my way over the lip… nothing. I try again. Nothing. Directly across from me is a man scraping the windows on his car. He’s watching his young son play in the road. I noticed that he suddenly becomes very aware of me.

I try to overcome my barrier once again. The man calls to his son, and he runs out of the street. Then the two of them just stand there and watch as I attempt over, and over, and over, and over, to get out of the evil circle that keeps me from my future.

It was not as if they didn’t notice me. I had revved my engine so much that a burning smell was beginning to rise from below me.

Now, I’m starting to think that my neighbors are just rude. Is chivalry really dead? Wouldn’t the polite thing be to come over and offer some help? I guess not.

Frustrated, I laugh to myself. Then I called my brother to save the day. He came out, and pushed me to freedom. Yay for big brothers!

I contemplated giving the man and his son the finger...but I think I’m a better person than that.

Later on I found out that my brother didn’t actually do anything, he just stood behind me and gave the illusion of pushing.

Today is Symbolic of My Life

That's a car under there!

Location: Home
Mood: comically frustrated
 

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I’m angry at the world, but in a completely humorous way.

     Last night I went to a friend’s birthday dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory. I got a pomegranate Limoncello (to which my brother points out PART of the drink was 12% alcohol). I ate a spinach and cheese ravioli, and had a big dessert, and still managed to end the evening with a nice little buzz.
     When I got home I was expecting my parents to be gone, but there in the living room sat my Dad. So, I went about business as usual, but felt silly. Then I went to my room to prepare for bed. I blogged, and then got excited to read the book I’ve been reading. --; It’s this book that I fully recognize as stupid, but I LOVE it anyway.
     I finished the book...which makes me angry. Lately, each time I finish a book, unless it sucks, I get really angry because that means I have to find another one. Why do books have to end? It’s just rude! I used to be a slow reader, but my new life has made that part of me disappear as well. I hated being a slow reader. NOW, I hate being a quick reader. Can a book just freaking last?!
     When I finished the book it was 2:30am, and I was not tired at ALL. Sometimes alcohol just makes me antsy instead of sleepy. Damn you limoncello!
     So, I toss, turn, and think about my life. The last one is something that I avoid doing, because it just pisses me off. I get angry with myself mostly though. Then I start trying to think of something I can do about it.
    Anyway, I decide that I guess I’ll apply to grad school. It’s not really want I want to do right now, but it’s something. It’ll get me out of the house, and possibly help me with my whole “I’m qualified but have no experience” shtick.
     When I finish that, I decide that after I sleep-in (which I’m going to finally get to do because my dad won’t be there to judge me as lazy when I wake up after 9am) I’m going to get all cute, and spend the day at the book store. Get a coffee, find a new book, and try to speak to my imaginary boyfriend.
     I slept till 11am… Considering I didn’t fall asleep till after 5am, I expected to sleep longer, but that’s okay. I come downstairs and look out the window to find 2-3 inches of snow on the ground...well shit.
    There goes my plan for the day. I can’t drive my Corolla in the snow! Then I look into grad school applications, and turns out I need three academic references and I have...let me count...zero!
     Today is like a micro-version of my life right now. I’m TRAPPED in my house! I have no job, and can’t seem to get one, and there’s NOTHING I can do about it!!! I just want to scream, but I realize that it’s actually kind of funny.

I should probably calm down now because I just got a bloody nose...is that a sign?

The World's Most Hilariously Awful Interview

Mood: distressed

I had an interview today in Salem at the Oregon State Hospital....It didn’t go so great.

I showed up 45 minutes early, and was going to hangout in my car preparing for it. However, I'd had three glasses of water and a soda. I had to pee, and badly. I debated going in that early, but finally settled on driving around to find somewhere else to go.

When I had killed enough time, I decided to go in. The parking lot was behind the building so I had to walk around an entire building. Then I had to ring a doorbell to get let in. After ringing the doorbell, the receptionist just hollered “Come In!” When I signed in she called the woman I needed to meet with. She didn’t answer.

The receptionist than told me, “Maureen is in the middle of something, she’ll be about ten minutes. Feel free to have a seat and wait.” So, I parked it. I pulled out my note pad, and was going to brainstorm some intelligent questions to ask. However, Maureen was there within ten seconds. She took me to a room, and handed me the questions that the panel would be asking me. This is how social services interviews are run. They ask you to show up 15 minutes early, and give you the questions. You can then think about them and develop thoughtful responses. Maureen told me that if I needed her she would be in the room next door.

I know what you’re thinking. This isn’t so hilarious, or awful, just yet. Well, hold on.

I’m reviewing the questions, and the first one is to describe my experience in the mental health field. I have none. So, I’m thinking, “this will be fine.” What they normally do is ask you the questions verbatim. So, I was thinking that they’d ask me and I’d be able to relate to them more personally. Then there were a few questions that involved inside terms. This is terminology that means nothing to me because I don’t work here. I have no idea what “person center plans” or “evidence-based structure as it relates to peer support” are. But I’m thinking, “this is fine, we’ll come to that question, they’ll ask it and I’ll play off their response. I will tell them I’m not sure what they mean, and it’ll be okay.”

While I’m working on these questions, and attempting to calm myself. Something really awkward happened. The woman in the room next door, Maureen, got a phone call. Apparently, the walls there are paper thin. Her conversation seemed fine. She was perfectly polite, and perky. Then the call ended. She hung up the phone, and said (to herself presumably) “fucking stuck up bitch!” Afterward she continued to grumble to herself. There were no other voices. She was definitely talking to herself, and some of the stuff she was saying was not quite right. Along the same lines as the post-call conversation. Needless to say, I was uncomfortable.

A short while later a weirdly dressed woman came in to get me for my interview. She was dressed in a colorful outfit that can only be described as something a high school drama or middle school art teacher might wear (excessively flowy, and with  ample color and decals). She walked me across the hall to an office that looked like the inside of a Native American teepee. Standing at the table were two old men. One looked like he might be a college professor, and the other one was...a cowboy.

THERE WAS AN HONEST TO GOD, OLD MAN, COWBOY THERE!! He had the whole cowboy hat and tight jeans deal get-up. He was wearing a vest with a bunch of pockets all over it. This dude had a bushy beard, and all kinds of things going on. I was completely confused.

I shook all of their hands, but was really confused (by the cowboy) and uncomfortable (because of the woman with tourettes across the hall). When the men shook my hand they said their “Hi Melinda, I’m ___” to which I responded, both times, “Hi, I’m Melinda” as if they didn’t already know my name.
They pulled out my chair for me. When I stood in front of the chair to sit down, they pushed it in, and my foot got hooked around it. So, I got stuck, and went through the interview in an uncomfortable position.
I knew nothing about Oregon State Hospital. When they asked, I requested a brief explanation. They gave it to me. Apparently, at the Salem location, the VAST majority of their patients are either those who “have been deemed not competent to stand trial” or those who have successfully plead the insanity defense. Needless to say, I began the interview completely off guard.

Then they told me that they would like me to run the whole interview myself. I could read the questions out loud, or not, as long as I just let them know which question I was on. Um...what??! I was counting on them reading the questions. This threw me off.

So, I stumbled through it. I asked them what some of the terminology meant, but these people skated around the questions and never really told me what they meant. Also, anytime I showed any humanity, I got NO RESPONSE! I would joke a little, and not get even the slightest smirk. They were entirely stone faced!

To make matters worse, in the middle of my interview, the cowboy’s phone went off. It was set on vibrate, but that did not make it any less noticeable. It was one of those LOUD vibrating things. It was really distracting, especially because he seemed to have forgotten which vest pocket he put it in. He fidgeted around in it for nearly two minutes! I wasn’t sure what to do about it. Originally, I smiled at him in an “oh haha” kind of way, but (as was their style) I got no reaction from him.

At the end of the interview they asked if I had any questions. I have learned that you don’t want to leave without asking some well thought out questions. So, I asked about how they would go about training a person with little to no experience. The old man gave me a very vague and uninformative answer, and then the woman chimed in. She told me about a program at another branch, where you can get experience, and they pay for you to get your Certified Nursing Assistant License. My CNA?! When did I ever express an interest in going in that direction? And, doesn’t it seem like a step back from my bachelor’s degree? Especially when you consider that I don’t want to go into the medical field.

Throughout this whole interview I was screaming inside my own head. I really just wanted to politely excuse myself, and run screaming down the hall! When we were finally done they said “well thank you for coming in and interviewing with us.” Then, they all just sat there at the table. So, I stood up, and asked “should I just walk out the same way I came in.” They then asked me if I came in through the front door...There was only one way in! I had to ring the doorbell.

Finally, I got out of there, and made it out to my car. On my way out of the parking lot I noticed a truck. I thought it was waiting for my spot, but then I saw the truck again as I exited the parking lot. THE COWBOY WAS DRIVING THE TRUCK!! He was behind me all the way out to the freeway!

It wasn't just awkward and uncomfortable! It was a train wreck!
So, can I ask just one question?:
Why the hell was there a Cowboy?!
Okay, two questions actually:
At this place, is it a normal thing to have a coworker mutter obscenities as they work alone?

Mindy the Maladroit

Mood: embarrassed

I looked up a new word. I feel that this one describes me perfectly right now. I’m sort of a bumbling fool at points in my life.

My interview was not the greatest. It wasn’t awful. It definitely could have been worse. But, it was not the best interview that anyone ever had.

They tell you to arrive twenty minutes early so that you can fill out a criminal history form, view the position description, and review the questions. At interviews for Social Services with the DHS they give you the questions ahead of time. You are then given some time to read through them and prepare your answers for the actual interview. It’s rather nice actually. You get to prepare, and you are ready for what they throw at you.

Well, I am chronically early to important things. It’s almost embarrassing how early I am to things like interviews. Normally, I would have shown up about twenty minutes early, but because they told me to be twenty minutes early I showed up about a half hour early.

What’s weird is that they called me in almost right away. I had MAYBE fifteen minutes to prepare. It was actually more like ten minutes. The criminal history form was filled out, but I never got to review the questions. The job description was like 5 pages long. It doesn’t help that I am a slow reader. The interview questions were at the very bottom of the stack, and I never got around to reading them. I was actually on page three of the job description when they called me in.

It was a panel interview, so it was me versus two DHS staff. The room was set up rather awkwardly. It was a round-ish table, and the two women interviewing me were sitting opposite one another. They asked me to have a seat, so I chose the seat between them. It was more like an octagon table, but it was still rather strangely set up.

The two women introduced themselves to me, and then asked me if I would like to just begin answering the questions. This was nerve racking because I hadn’t even seen them yet. But, I took a deep breath and told them that I hadn’t had a chance to review them, and asked if we could go through them together.  They seemed fine with that. So, they began asking the questions, taking turns. I did my best to answer each question honestly and thoroughly.

About five minutes into the interview I realized that we were almost on the last question...What’s that all about? Honestly, the brevity of the interview began to make me nervous. In my experience good interviews last longer than 10 minutes. Usually, if it’s going well it will last about 30 minutes.

It was at this point, nearly half way through the interview that I began to realize that neither woman was really reacting to anything that I had to say. They both fervently took notes, but it seemed as though neither one of them was actually hearing me.

So, about 10 minutes into the interview they asked me if I had any questions for them. I had a few, but I stretched them out to make the interview last longer. When I had asked all of my questions, the interview ended.

As I got up and started to leave the room the woman (who would be my supervisor) said, “So, Go Beavers. I went there too.” Then she indicated my pin and said, “And you were a Chi Omega? I was a tri-delt, all four years.” To which I responded...“Well, that’s okay,” and left the room.

"Well, that’s okay"? REALLY?! I crack myself up, because sometimes shit just comes out of my mouth. It’s almost like I have verbal diarrhea. I just say things, and I have no control over it.

I know that what I meant was something like, “well, we can still be friends.” However, it definitely came out sounded like, “I won’t hold it against you that you were not cool enough to be a Chi Omega like me.” And that’s how I ended the interview.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad interview, but it did not go the way that I had wanted it to. My plan was to walk out of that interview feeling great. Instead, I walked out of that interview feeling like a goob.

I think that they should make a sitcom about me. At times it feels like I am a cross between Elaine Bennis (from Seinfield) and Pheobe Buffet (from friends). I’m relatively successful in life, but sometimes I just do some things that seem ridiculous.

Let’s just hope that what I said left an impression. Hopefully, it made me memorable, but not in a bad way.
Oh gosh. What am I going to do with myself.

Just Thinking

Location: Home
Mood: contemplative

I drove down to Corvallis for the day.

I was in a sorority. Well, I am in a sorority. I guess once you’re in one you’re in it for life. Anyway, in a sorority you get a whole “family” complete with a big sister and a little sister, sometimes more if you’re lucky enough. Normally, you get your Big sister shortly after joining. This is during your freshman (in the house) year. Then, if all goes accordingly you get your Little sister your sophomore year. Nothing about how I joined my sorority was normal. I joined my sophomore year. So in terms of the sorority, I was a freshman, but I was a sophomore...it’s all very confusing. I got a Big my first year in the house, but she (unfortunately) had to dis-affiliate...that means she left the sorority. However, before that happened, I got a Little during my second year in the house. It was late winter term when they both DA’d...not planned, and independently of one another.

So my third year in the house (my junior year in the sorority, but my senior year in school) I was “adopted” by another Big. She is amazing, and I was welcomed into a big family, because she already had 2 Littles. So I was a triplet. Then I got another Little. She’s fabulous, and I could not be happier with my sorority family. Especially my Little.

Anyway, I told you all of that so that I could tell you this. Today is my Little’s birthday. She’s a sophomore now. In both the house and in school. She joined the house the conventional way, so all of her years add up and are easy to follow. She just moved into the house for the first time a few weeks ago, and I want her to have the best time possible. I feel really bad because I can’t be there. Normally, you would live with your Big the first term you live in the house, but because I joined abnormally, I graduated before we could live together. So, I am forced to be the best Big that I can be...from afar. I don’t want her to feel like she’s missed out on having a Big. So, I wanted to do something special for her birthday.

I had these big plans to surprise her. I wasn’t going to tell her that I was coming into town, and surprise her. However, I found out that she has class until 5pm, and that didn’t really fit into my plans. So, I told her I was coming into town. It would have been cool to do it the original way, but it just wasn’t practical with such a small window.

I have a job interview in Gresham at 10am, so I had to turn around and drive right back after I took her to dinner. So, it really was just a day trip.

There’s something about driving all alone, at night. It really makes you think. I got really deep into my thoughts. It might just be the endless stretch of road. It could also be the fact that you’re passing by towns that seem to be so peaceful, but you feel all alone there in your car.

Sometimes I really feel alone. Being in my car tonight just reaffirmed that. It’s hard to go from undergrad and living with 50 girls, to solo in your car. I was literally driving between two worlds. My undergraduate sorority life which I still feel a part of, and my grown-up, jobless, alone, without a friend world. That’s a tough thing to do, driving down that dark headlight strewn road just made me wonder how I am going to make this transition.

It’s not like I haven’t been trying to make this transition. It would really be nice if once you graduated they just handed you a list of jobs, and said “here you go pick one.” Then once you picked it they gave you that job. I’m not asking for some career Eden right out of school, but something to get my feet wet would be nice. I sort of feel like OSU gave me all of this education, but didn’t provide any help for me to figure out what to do with it.

Now I think I know what I want to do, but that doesn’t help me figure out how to do it. Also, it feels like Gresham is so far from everything and everyone that I’ve grown to know and love in the past few years. It’s hard not to notice that I have no friends. I feel fine most of the time, but it would just be so nice to have someone I could call up and talk to. I would just like a friend that I felt was genuinely concerned with what I was thinking about, and wanted to hear from me. I know that there are girls that I can talk to, and they are genuinely concerned with me. The problem is that they all have their own things going on, and I feel like they forget about me.

That’s hard to take. Every now and then I go through a whole day without actually speaking to anyone, except for my parents. That just reminds me that I don’t have really close friends. I have friends that I can call, but there is no one person that I feel like I can lean on right now. Thank god I’m doing alright, but sometimes it would be nice to know that person was there.