How to get a job (In Chicago)

I got a job!!!!  WOooot!!


Actually I got a job like a month ago (ha!  One day before my arbitrary and unrealistic -May 30-deadline that I gave myself to feel some sort of self worth that obviously backfired because it resulted in 2 months of self-loathing before I got the offer).


But that’s in the past now!  And through this sorted process of job finding I learned a few things about how you get jobs.

You see, for the past 9 years I have been in the stressful, but protective bubble of school.  Scholarships, work study, student loans, practica, etc all protected me from the real world.  I had jobs, bartending, serving, tutoring, I was Sauerkraut Girl for one glorious winter break.  But I never felt bad about these temporary and low paying jobs because I convinced myself, well, deluded myself into thinking that I would be better on the other side.  I would be big fancy doctor pants and it would all be worth it.  Not getting a serving job that I didn’t care about didn’t matter because there were 100 bars all over the place that always needed someone.

Enter impending graduation and forced entry into the real world.


It turns out when you work really hard on something, a degree, you want really hard to prove that you deserve it and that you’re good at it.  The first step to that is finding a job that utilizes said degree.  Every single time you get rejected it provides a little proof that you do not deserve that degree.  No matter how hard you worked, you still suck.   Every single time a cohort member gets a job, you hate them and yourself more.


You polish and polish and polish your resume.  You realize you are polishing a turd.  You cry.  You eat feelings.  This goes on for months.

But Bowie explained all of that.

Gratuitous use of the most ridiculous moment in film.

Gratuitous use of the most ridiculous moment in film.

Anyway, I actually got two fellowship offers.  And you know what I realized through these offers?  There are only two ways to get a job in Chicago.  Nepotism or amazingly cute shoes.

Add shoes and a connection and you have a job in this town.

Add shoes and a connection and you have a job in this town.

I know right?  I mean, nepotism doesn’t surprise anyone.  This is Chicago.  We can quit pretending like this surprises us.  My first job offer came from a friend of a friend.  Friend passed CV to her friend, kablam!  Offer.  Legit, like no interview until after offer was made.

Shoes?   I wish I was making that up.  I wear different shoes all the time.  I love shoes.  But I have one pair of shoes that I have worn to pretty much every successful interview, save my current placement.  They are old and they are cute as hell.  I bought them for grad school interviews and those bitches have kept me solid ever since.  And this is not even belief in luck.  I always have someone comment on the shoes at the school or agency.  I wore them to interview at a site way beyond my reach, and those fuckers hired me!  Only, of course, after commenting on my shoes.  Now, these shoes are not comfortable in any way.  Or even fancy; I bought them at Target in 2008.  But they are my “Hey, I’m a 6 ft tall badass therapist” shoes, apparently.  They’re old and worn out.  But I’m afraid if I get rid of them I will be forever unemployed.


Anyway, that is the story of how I got a job and value as a human being.

The End

Aww thanks, Cumby!

Aww thanks, Cumby!


The most anti-climactic moment of my life.

There have been many moments (most of them in the last year) that I can classify as anti-climactic.  When I got the email that said I had matched for internship and suddenly 8 months of anxiety was over and I no idea what I was supposed to do.  The last 5 minutes of my last class ever.  The 2012 apocalypse.  I could go on and on.

My written dissertation passed?  My chair signed off on it?  Like, just like that.  I got his feedback on my draft.  We set up a meeting.  He asked what I needed and we discussed for a few and set up an oral defense date.  Then he signed the official form that I passed.



I don’t know what I was expecting.  Tequila?  Confetti?  A parade of sharply dressed Cillian Murphies and Benedict Cumberbatches?  Something.  I came home and told my boyfriend and he was like “cool.”


I don’t think this is too much to ask.















3 years.  Countless data collection trips.  1000’s of trees dead from printing shit.  Migraines.  Carpel tunnel.  Missed drinking excursions?  All just for a little signature.  😦

I know the feeling, man.

I know the feeling, man.

Maybe after my oral defense I will get that parade.  (If anyone is wondering what I want for a defense gift, hint!)


I guess I’ll take this moment to be an optimist (feels weird…) and focus on this simple fact:  I am done with classes.  21 years of education and I am finally out of that shit!  I get to have a life!  I get to play video games and read Bradbury at the beach with my hound!  I get to spend time with boyfriend (who is super duper excited by all of this)!  I get to work one job 40 hours a week and then come home to my home and to boyfriend and to my pup!  I don’t have to write papers or stupid presentations or assignments or reads shitty articles about things I could care less about when the journals I pay for sit unopened due to lack of time to read.  I stocked up on books for the summer!  I bought new running shoes!  It will be magical!!!

All of this, of course, after I defend my diss and get my fucking celebration!  (I’m at least getting myself a goddamn cake.)

How fucking amazing is this cake?

How fucking amazing is this cake?

Freud and Rape Culture–Fuck that guy.

I’ve been going back and forth between doing a post on Sigmund Freud and Rape Culture.

I’ve been going back and forth because I know that to do it justice and deflect nay-sayers and those weirdo Freudians who think he is still relevant, I would have to do an actual amount of research, which  I don’t have the time or health to do right now.  (I think I have an ulcer or gastritis or diabetes or cancer or death…but I also might just be under too much stress.)

So I don’t have the time, but I’m going to anyway.  Fuck you.  This is my blog.  If you like Freud’s theories, go home and continue in your delusion.

fuI’m honestly pretty embarrassed that my field still uses Freud as a mascot.  It’s pretty insulting that we even still respect him.  (In case you haven’t gotten it, this is a super biased post, so again, feel free to leave).  We give him credit for pretty much inventing psychology and psychotherapy, when in reality we are misdirecting credit that should go to others.  Freud didn’t come out of nowhere, he did not invent the “talking cure” as many want to think.  Nor did he really cure anyone.

Aaaaaaannnnnd on to my rape culture rant.

This was a some type of treatment for Hysteria...Yeah...

This was a some type of treatment for Hysteria…Yeah…

Coming up in psychology I’m sure I got the same schpiel (I have no idea how you spell that, or if it’s a real word) that everyone else got in their intro classes about Freud’s theory on psychosexual development.  Psychosexual stages of oral, anal, blah blah I hate them too much to even recall or google them right now.  We learned the Oedipus Complex and the less well known Electra Complex (for girls!  written something along the lines of 15 years later because it took the culture that long to realize that he had completely left women out of the developmental picture).  It all seemed very single minded to me.  Really?  Everything, every pathology and tic is a result of some type of sexual regression?  I figured that it was just a very watered down undergrad version of the theory and went on with my life.  And even then I thought of it as a historical science blip, like the sun revolving around the earth.  My very hippied out Personality Psych Prof in undergrad then let us in on the secrets of Freud’s private life.  He didn’t have sex for decades and there was some weird shit with him and his mom and he threw away and attempted to disgrace any upcoming psychologist/intern/admirer who disagreed with him.  Fun stuff.  Just the kind of guy I would want laying down judgments on me.

Anyway, as part of my grad training, I had to take classes in each of the major orientations (Psychodynamic [Freud, et al], CBT, Humanistic, and Systemic), most of which were taught by very staunch adherents to their theory who refused to see any flaw in the classic theories of the orientation (except my CBT prof who outrightly said “all what I’m teaching is being outmoded by new theories and will be irrelevant in a few years—but failed to teach us said new theories).  Anyway, I went into my Psychodyamic class trying to have an open mind about Freud.  We learned all of his greatest hits and made-up phrases like “Regression in service of the ego” and something about “cathexis.”  I tried to follow, but it was all too foreign and self-righteous for me.  I passed the class and went on with my life accepting that I had wasted that time and money and disappointed the prof never even uttered the name Carl Jung.  I was but a wee grad student with a high level of anxiety and a fear of making waves (clearly this phase of my life has passed, as I have heard myself saying “fuck that” during seminars–I may not get far in my career, but I will be true to myself).


As I implied, this prof refused to address any issues or faults in Freud’s theory.  When someone asked about his theory on homosexuality, the prof said “oh we will discuss that at a later date.”  “A later date” never came.

Let me bring up to you Freud’s theory of sexual abuse towards girls and women:  It was all their fault and they were asking for it.

Now, this was not always Freud’s theory.  Initially, Freud saw the relationship between “Hysteria” and childhood trauma, specially sexual trauma.  A little background on Hysteria:  essentially this was the term for a cluster of symptoms relating to anxiety in women, such as hyperarousal, pulling away at being touched, uneasiness, crying, etc.  My personal favorite description being:  “a dramatic medical metaphor for everything that men found mysterious or unmanageable in the opposite sex.”


Freud, Charcot, Breuer, and others in the field at the time all recognized the relationship between this “disease” and trauma.  Freud even had a strong enough base of evidence to write about the relationship between girlhood sexual abuse and hysteria.  Legit and fantastic.  A difficult subject to breach at the time.  So difficult, in fact, that Freud became uncomfortable with the idea, retracted the theory, and reconceptualized all of the work that he had previously done.  Apparently, the idea of rampant, systemic childhood sexual abuse was so threatening to Freud he disavowed his own thoughts and journals.  He retracted previous writings and revised his theory.

I want to stop here.  Because I want to point out that Freud and his counterparts recognized this in the early 20th century and had the opportunity to intervene.  To change the way women and hysteria was thought about and treated.  To really, genuinely address issues of rape and sexual abuse.  But Freud said “No.”


He was actually so uncomfortable with this idea that he revised his theory to state that the sexual abuse was “imagined” and even later “wanted” by the women during childhood.  That they created the situation to deal with their distance from the father and jealousy of the mother.  I could say the same for the Oedipus complex, but like I said I don’t have the time, energy, or health to back it up legitimately.  (I know I rarely do citations here, because it’s not a peer-review journal, but please trust that I’m not making shit up as I go along and I do have articles if you are that desperate to fact-check me.)    Freud’s eventual theory came down to the fact that women imagined sexual abuse, they wanted to be sexually abuse…wait, I should correct myself, we are talking about childhood sexual abuse, so I should be saying girls.  Girls wanted to be sexually abused, the desired the trauma, so much so that if it wasn’t real, they would imagine it.

Why am I so furious to write an entirely too long post?  Because out culture still thinks this way.  We blame girls and women for being abused, for being raped, for being traumatized.  We don’t believe their stories.  We look for every reason to think they are lying or that they are asking for it.  Well, I blame Freud for a lot of this.  He created the theory that allowed us to believe this tripe.  Thanks, Freud, for the victim blaming and slut shaming.Fuck you freud

I wanted to end on some awesome quote/picture.  I got nothing.  Have a good night.(And have sex.  It will anger the ghost of Freud, and that will make the world a better place)

Stupid, annoying contentedness. Where is my misery?

I have a bit of a backwards relationship with my moods and motivation.  Having dealt with depressive episodes in the past, and reflecting on them now years later, I’m almost hoping for another depressive, apathetic period of my life just to get me off my ass.


Being enmeshed in the academic world, and being the awkward, recluse that I am, I’ve discovered that the only time I want to work to impress people is when I’m miserable.  When I’m tired, beaten down, and out of shits to give, I’ve discovered, is the only time  I can make myself work to the point of impressing people–and the academic world is all about impressing people.  I do my best work when I’m exhausted and pissed off.

As I have come to realize, after having a few weeks off work classes and training, is that when I am happy and myself, I could give a shit about the competitiveness of the world.  All I have ever really dreamed of is a little townhouse/apartment in my neighborhood with a little yard, and a couple of beagles with boyfriend.  So, when I am fully within my personality, fully myself, I only work so hard as to achieve that.  It doesn’t take much to achieve such humble dream.  So yeah, I may be lazy.  I am an underachiever compared to what I’m capable of.  I blame my dad.

Hyperbole and a half did an amazing illustration of my head.  But I would have to add the end road of Motivational Hate.

Hyperbole and a half did an amazing illustration of my head. But I would have to add the end road of Motivational Hate.

However, occasionally  shit hits the fan in my life.  I either get overly annoyed by the people in my life who see my underachievement and believe that is all I’m capable of, or talk out their ass and I get so pissed I have to prove them wrong.  When I get depressed, I also tend to get insecure.  As any insecure weirdo knows, the only way to relieve that (without therapy and self-understanding or an internal sense of confidence) is recognition from people you respect.  So, when I get depressed, insecure, self-loathing, ya know all that fun stuff, I tend to work harder to impress those people to get that recognition.  I become very productive when I’m depressed.   If I am feeling confident and content with anything in life, I really don’t give enough fucks to put effort into work.  If I’m annoyed at any one person, no matter how meaningless their existence, I will spend hours at a time proving them wrong, even if they will never see or understand the final product.  And then I’m all like–

download                                         ^The only emotion I really strive after.^

I tend to wonder, if I was not as unhappy as I was in high school, would I have taken AP classes, enrolled in college classes, worked 40 hours a week, etc.?  Or would I have just happily wandered into drama club and never come out?  It’s an odd question, how worthwhile is your misery?

I don’t really know yet.  But I’m hoping to get really miserable and insecure before I go into these internship interviews.  Anyone wanna volunteer to just degrade me for the next 5 days?  Or I could just read listservs about gun control and Sandy Hook, those usually piss me off enough call upon my intelligence.

Terrible things you consider when you realize you have to pay back student loans. Pt. 1

I realized I hadn’t written in  a long time.  I’ve been in a lazy/lamenting mood lately so I decided to take a page from my dog’s book and lay around the house watching Monster Quest for a few days—by which I mean weeks.

I just realized that in a year, I will be on internship, after that I will be forced into the real world.  I have spent the last 20 years of my life in school, straight.  No breaks.  The last 9 have been in college/grad school (I started taking college classes when I was 16 because I was awesome enough to qualify for a program and I hated high school).  But now, after accumulating a fuck-ton of debt and a small amount of knowledge, I realized that I have  to have a real job and pay my bills out of real money, not loans, and pay the previously mentioned loans back!  WTF?  I have no delusions that they will be paid off by the time I die.  I’ll pay the minimum until I die and be content.

But then, today, I had this fantastic idea!  I can sell my Eggs!  I can get up to $35,000 for one!  What the fuck!  I’m feeling I can get a pretty solid price for a tall, blonde, athletic, high IQ’d chick with a doctorate!  I may be making terrible statements here, but when you are suddenly faced with the real world, shit gets real and you realize the pointless things that matter to the WASP culture that would probably want my eggs.  My only defects are being near-sighted and clumsy, and having a penchant for science fiction.  And I don’t even smoke!  If anyone is interested I’ll just pretend I don’t drink as much as I do when they meet me.  Let’s face it, my genes are going to waste due to my phobia of pregnancy.  Someone should benefit from them.   And if they can benefit from my genes and I can benefit from their money, it might just be a perfect world.

I’m also working on a scheme with the boyfriend about letting me have  a sugar daddy.  Because if I get a sugar daddy, I can boyfriend’s sugar momma.  Think in layers here people!  Again, everyone benefits!  Except the idea of boning old people.  I don’t like that.  hrmmm….Let me work this one out a little more.

Personal Statement=Android Mode

Is it just me, or is there something super voyeuristic about autobiographical/personal statements?

I’m desperately trying to write a personal statement for internship applications, and I just feel awkward.  How to I tell a selection committee about who I am without talking about the bad parts of me?  How to I tell them how much I’ve grown and why I feel I can relate in the way I do without talking about being there myself.

My FailSafe is Android Mode.  Unfortunately, my android mode is not nearly as lovable as Data.  I’m hopeless.


The Low Expectations of Millennial (for themselves)

So every few days I read an article or hear something somewhere about how my generation–the Milennials, those born between 1980 and 2000–are lazy, demanding of immediate gratification, expect everything without work, think we should be having high paying salaries, etc., etc.  But, from the people I know and talk to in my age group (and this is obviously biased because I don’t exactly have a random or representative sampling of friends, it’s convenience), we have really low expectations for our futures.  No one I know, for fucking realz, expects to make more than 50,000-60,000 a year.  Like, ever.  None of us feel the need to buy a house.  Or raise a gaggle of demanding, expensive, oozing out of every orifice children.  Or have fancy things.  For the most part, the people in my age group that I know want these simple things: to not panic about bills, to not have full blown anxiety attacks over student loan bills, to have a decent apartment in which we have enough space to showcase ours and our partner’s book and movie collections, and perhaps a pet or two.  The point at which we believe we are living the dream?  Ownership of a washer and dryer, a small yard (in which we can tether our pets and allow them to chase squirrels), and the disposable income to enjoy a few decent (not PBR) beers at a bar on the weekends.

How most of us feel about our job prospects:

And our living conditions:
(Mad props to The Daily Northwestern for this comic, Millennials)

Now, compared to what I hear about my generation (yes, The Who is totally playing in my head as I write this) this is painfully modest. Last I read, we walked into jobs demanding top paying positions.  We didn’t feel we had to prove ourselves.  We thought shit was simply granted to us.  I NEED TO KNOW WHERE THESE PEOPLE LIVE AND BECOME ONE OF THEM!

The people I know of my age group are willing to put up with low prestige jobs, simply because they give us the ability to live normal lives and enjoy those simple lives.  So long as our bills are paid and we can meet up with friends at a bar, we’re pretty fucking happy.  We don’t mind working hard.  We want to enjoy our jobs, even if we’re overqualified for them.  Many, many people I know are working jobs they are overqualified for for one of two reasons.  1) They like the job and it pays the bills.  Isn’t this what everyone wants?  or 2) They’re trying to ride out the recession.  No better jobs are available; they are willing to suffer so long as they have something resembling income.

And I would really like to understand the stereotype that Millennial aren’t willing to work hard.  Myself and those around me have all worked multiple jobs at some point in their lives, or worked while attending college.  That shit is fucking exhausting!  It sucks! It’s insulting to hear the stereotypes applied to my age group that say we don’t work hard.  Especially when the truth is, or feels like, we get less for working harder.  There is no possible way at this point to “work your way through school.”  No matter how hard you work, you can never pay tuition with a part-time job.  You can never pay for a house as a working-class citizen, not matter how frugal you are.  Perhaps we are simply too beaten down to care about the bigger dreams of home-ownership.

Again, I need to meet these supposed “Millennials” that refuse to work and are so entitled.  I have no doubt they are out there, but I also refuse to believe they are the majority.  The majority of us work our asses off and get nothing for it.  We do not choose to live with parents or carry large amounts of debt.  That is how the world works now.  It fucking sucks.  We work well over 40 hours a week–fuck, the 40-hour work week is a long-forgotten myth to most of us–simply to pay the interest on our student loans because our high schools and parents told us that education was the key to success.  Well, that’s bullshit.  Fucking boyfriend (who I love to death) avoided college and now makes more money than myself (a doctoral student) or any of my friends with Master’s degrees fields varying from fine arts to business.  Granted, it is still no where near what would be needed for us to reach our dream of a 2-bedroom townhouse with a washer and dryer, but still.

The moral of the story:  Unless your parents are rich, you’re fucked.  And the rest of us have to pick up the slack while we wear the labels of your spoiled-ness.

Financial Aid

Quick question:

How much should I care about how much I put myself in debt?  I mean school loans.


I’m concerned that I’m just that jaded that it no longer matters.  I mean, I’m going to be paying them back my entire life.  The way it’s looking I’m never going to retire.  I have no ambitions of home ownership.  I’m phobic of having children of my own.   The American dream for me is having a two bedroom apartment so I’m not tripping on boyfriend’s drumset every morning.  The way I see it, why the fuck not rack up all the student debt humanly possible?  I’ll die before it’s ever paid off anyway since I’ll never be able to afford healthcare either.  Shit, after this doctorate, maybe I’ll find something else to waste my time and money on.

The sad fact is I don’t even live well.  I get really excited to go out on dollar beer night and grab pizza by the slice with boyfriend.  Most of the rest of the week I eat plain rice or eggs or peanut butter and jelly.  I nearly tackled a friend of mine for a fee donut coupon (I’m saving it for a special occasion!). I’m a bit pathetic.  But hell, I’m almost a doctor right?

Office Space is great. No one should watch it.

I am currently watching Office Space.  I don’t know why I put this movie on; it was a terrible idea.  I thought “hey I’ll watch office space and work on my Competency Exam!”  This was a bad idea because I have no motivation to work to begin with, like, the other day I got 2 sentences written in 2 hours. That is how little I care about grad school right now.  Now, as I watch Peter Gibbons, I see myself as a student.  I just don’t care.  I can’t be made to care.  Every moment that I sit in class is the worst moment of my life.  It’s not because I dislike my profs (despite previous posts) or that I don’t want to learn the material, I just hate it.  I hate listening to other people talk just to hear themselves, the specific people that take over conversations, the learning of outdated material.  Talking about HIV/AIDS related Dementia and mortality rates, the notes cited a study from 1995.  I refuse to believe this has remained unchanged in 17 years.

I just had a terrible revelation.  I think I’m Milton.  Just keeping to myself and fantasizing about destruction.

It’s not even that I dislike my field.  I just dislike what I’m forced to study.  There are theories that I would love to learn more about, but are never addressed.  I’ve recently been fascinated with Carol Gilligan.  This will never be discussed in class.  I taught myself Judith Rich Harris.  Again, they will never discussed.  I had a prof openly acknowledge that he was teaching outdated material that no one uses anymore, that the field has changed and the information was only historically relevant.  But he did not supplement this with the new material!!!!  WTF?  I pay for these classes bitches!  In all fairness, that prof has since been let go.

You know that scene where the boss at Chotchkie’s asks Jennifer Aniston’s character “You want to express yourself right?” and she has this concerned, confused, intimidated look and just nods.  That is how grad school feels.

I’m probably going to regret writing this.

Paternal Attachment–I created a Professor “oh crap” moment. Sorry :(

I just received a really fantastically awkward response to a question about the absence of fathers in attachment theory.  Anyone who has read a bit of attachment theory quickly realizes that most authors are talking only about mothers.  The pressure is placed on the mother to create a secure attachment, to ensure that they provide the ideal level of boundaries and warmth.  I’m not going to go over all the 4 levels of attachment, but suffice it to say, it is a difficult balance to define and for a woman to enact.  Many parents achieve this with little difficulty (yay for them!)  Psychologists tend to pathologize all everything except secure attachments.  (wiki-link, if you’re curious to want more! In my opinion, children and adults are more adaptable and resilient than we give them credit for.   But even outside of psychology, culture gives mothers the responsibility of creating the early blueprint for attachment.  The relationship with the father is considered tertiary, consequential.  Short of outright abuse, anything the father does is juuuuust fiiiiiiiine.

The field of attachment research focuses almost solely on mothers.  We have a ton of information on how mothers attach to their children and a massive lacking of information about fathers.  A few people have attempted to explore how fathers form bonds with their children, but this collection of research is very, very small.  The field of psychology and relationship science instead assumes that paternal attachment is just the same.  The problem with this is that we simply don’t know.  It is worth exploring but it is not being really explored.

I brought up this issue in class after watching a video clip on corrective attachment therapy. This type of therapy is primarily applied when an infant is diagnosed with Failure to Thrive and no biological/medical base can be identified.  Failure to Thrive occurs when a child and parent have no attachment, are out of tune with one another, the parent is not meeting the child’s need for security.  This failure of relationship result in the child not eating or taking in nutrition or not sleeping.  The child does not grow.  FTT does not occur only in first days/weeks of life, but can appear age 3 or even older.  It creates a great deal of disruption in the entire household, especially if two parents are involved.  The video we watched and every discussion I’ve ever had on this topic throughout multiple classes, revolves around the mother.  Treatment revolves primarily around the mother, teaching the mother how to appropriately respond and build an empathetic connection with the child.

So, in my infinite curiosity, I inquired as to why the fathers were not more involved.  They were obviously involved and equally as disengaged from the child.  At least one of the families featured involved two working parents.  Why is the father’s lack of attachment not emphasized.  I received a very bumbling and unsatisfying answer that mentioned the working father, the importance of the “feeding relationship” (think breast feeding–even though few mothers currently breast feed), the father not wishing to create more tension in the family.  To my prof’s credit, he acknowledged that this was an area that was lacking, but he came back around to excusing that.  At no point did he imply, yeah dads need to be involved!  They can have bad attachments too!  I followed up by stating that it seemed father’s were excused in their Ego-Centric level of awareness with their child, and that it is accepted or expected that fathers relate to their children in this way.  Again, I received more bumbling and nothing resembling a satisfying answer.

Poor guy.  He went out of his way to inject “father” every time he said “mother” and tried to inject some comments about patriarchy for the rest of the lecture.  I felt kind of awkward as he answered the question, as awkward as I was annoyed.  It was a clear moment of “oh crap I have a feminist in my class!  What do I doooooo?”  But the field of psychology and attachment are dripping with misogyny.  Hell when you break it down the whole field was created by men to control and condemn women’s natural impulses and urges.  Fucking Freud.