Why delusion is popular or why people watch “The Bachelor”

garden-rose-thornOk so I have watched an entire episode of “The Bachelor” from start to finish albeit with a lot of snarky comments to my roomie (who is a regular viewer) and 2 glasses of red wine.

What did I learn?

1) None of these people will ever be satisfied.

Even if true love came to bite these women (or man) in the ass none of them would know it because all of them are hung up on a fantasy that is unattainable. When asked about what they want most of them just get this glassy-eyed look and talk about “fairy tales”, “special connections”, and “dreams”.

I’m sorry, but you’re an adult and you should know that relationships and love are work. They do not just fall together, men and women who “just get you” and have a “special smile” do not fall from the fucking sky.

2) The people who are there for attention are at least realistic.

I respect this.

Snooki also came up when I goggled train wreck.

You know who I respect on these types of shows, the bitch characters who go into full on train wreck/ sabotage mode with the other contestants. Why? Hopefully they are self aware enough to know that finding true love on a TV show, just isn’t going to happen. Might as well use the screen time to try and become a sensation of some kind. Seriously, just look at the success rates. The Bachelor is 2 for 17 and The Bachelorette is 3 for 9. That’s a 19 % success rate!!! You have a better chance of staying with someone you met and married in real life.

3) A red rose is the most ironic symbol for this show.

Everyone knows that red roses symbolize love and beauty, their color and scent. If you’ve ever had a rose bush or been lucky enough to receive long stem roses then you know they come with hard thorns. I’m sure the ones they give on the show have had them removed. Which to me explains exactly what’s wrong with the premise of the show.

My mom was a florist and she told me that the thorns were the price of being so beautiful. Roses in the wild can get eaten and have the thorns as a defense. In the real world people like roses have thorns. You have to take the good with the bad to have a working relationship. You have to be willing to get pricked to have a rose bush. To take the thorns off a rose is to deny what makes a rose, a rose. To take all the work and real moments out of dating is to deny that there will ever be bad times in a relationship. Do Bachelor contestants just say “through better and better-er” in their marriage vows? I wouldn’t be surprised.

oh noes

You like star trek more than star wars? Deal breaker!!

I don’t know why this show makes me so angry, but it does. And honestly I feel bad for all the contestants. What woman or man would want to compete for the affection of one person? What man or woman would want to have to dump 19 people in the span of about 3 weeks?

5 Reasons Why Pageants Are Hard

A long time ago for college money and perks I did what is known as a beauty pageant or what the coordinators called a scholarship program. This was a bona-fide face in the newspaper, riding on floats, appearing on local TV, getting personal fittings and doing things for the community locally based pageant. I’m not going to talk about the obvious shit (ie dieting) although if you ever wondered what toll a pageant takes on the heads of those girls with sashes and tiaras; read this, this was my journey.

a good album

I’m certain I cried in tiara and full make up at least once.

5. It becomes something that defines who you are.

If I ever rob a bank or die in a notable fashion in my hometown I know what the headline will be. I know this because I’ve seen what happens to other former Princesses from the program I participated in. What was a simple petty larceny charge of shoplifting makes it to the newspaper with your bad mugshot because you were in a pageant once upon a time. This actually happened to a former contestant from the year before my own entrance. This made me paranoid for a full year after the pageant because if something as small as shoplifting can get my face in the paper, where does it end?


I had nightmares about this because I knew my mugshot for jaywalking would never look this good. Look at those eyes!!

My handlers (think paid pageant moms) told me the moment after I was crowned a Princess and earned my place on court that I could no longer go out in public without being camera ready. At 17 I remember thinking that was insane, I wasn’t a rockstar nor did I think anyone cared if I went to my neighborhood bodega in spongebob pajamas. Only years after the pageant have I gone back to going out in pjs.

More than anything sometimes I get scared that something I did when I was 17, that I was never crazy about will end up in my eulogy simply for the fact that it was one of the most notable things I ever did.

4. You lose your right to freedom of speech.

Pageants are funded primarily from corporate donors who give in many different ways. Some give straight money; some donate products they make like clothes and others give large gifts like parade floats. And like Frank Underwood giving a favor to a fellow congressman they expect complete, unquestioning, loyalty.

scary mofo

Just slap a corporate logo over his face and you get what we were dealing with.

As a teen I wasn’t a major down with the “man” kind of person, but you start to feel like a sell out after shilling for five corporate overlords in one day.

One of our corporate sponsors was a nameless Swedish furniture company that donated our float and ruled us with an iron fist. We had to wear their corporate T-shirts for their events and were not allowed to have anything on that obscured their logo this included a jacket. Once during a night parade I was shivering and did not care about winning anymore, so I took off my shirt on a busy downtown street put my coat on and put the shirt over it. Yes, I stripped in the middle of a busy street because I knew if I didn’t I’d freeze my ass off for three hours or more. Most of the court (my fellow Princesses and competition) followed my lead, albeit while hiding behind a wall of coats held up by other princesses. And while the float was a cool gift, it sucked and even our handlers knew it (they bitched). Their corporate logo was the only thing anyone watching the parade could see on the float, so people who wanted to see the court didn’t know we were anything other than employees of this store. We got lots of shout outs for the store though, I learned people loved their meatballs.

they are good

I kind of resent how much I like their meatballs.

The worst in my opinion were the individual donors that pulled us to shill for their favorite charities, nursing homes that housed their family members or their rotary clubs. I didn’t mind doing most of it though one of the charities, a soup kitchen for the homeless was terrible. I’m not against feeding the homeless by any means, but I am against exposing them to diseases. This soup kitchen didn’t require new plates for second servings which is standard at all soup kitchens & buffet restaurants, not to mention required by FDA food safety regulations. The saddest part of this was I knew this because I’d volunteered at other shelters in the city and I’d been to a buffet. In most circumstances I would have spoken up, though the pageant taught me not to say anything critical about the places or people we were sent to do appearances with. So with great regret I kept serving people with dirty plates while trying not to touch them with my serving spoon and thus contaminating the entire pot of stew. (And don’t even get me started on the fact that this place made the homeless listen to church sermons before they could get food.)

christ yo

Because Jesus totally made those hungry people in the bible listen to an hour sermon before he decided to get on the multiply bread and fish thing.

I’d spoken my mind before about how it was stupid to make us go to a blood drive and then make us take off our pressure bandages 20 minutes later. They made us do this so as not to bias judges who might think those who gave blood were more altruistic, in actuality some of us were anemic or were just too small to give blood (we were teenage beauty queens what the fuck do you expect?). I had also worked as a blood drive volunteer and was a first responder, so I knew this shit was dumb. You get a pressure bandage because you need it, not as a fashion accessory. They had to give us band-aids anyways since some people were still bleeding. Our handlers told me I was being silly and overly cautious. In the end it didn’t even stop those who wanted to score points with the judges, one girl straight up blurted out, “We just came from the blood bank and I’m type A, I just gave my fifth pint!!”.

My point is that I couldn’t do shit about making bad medical decisions or serving poor people food that could make them sick. After a while all of these things made me feel sick. Even at 17 I was the kind of person that was outspoken. What drove me crazy was that we were supposed to be doing charity work and good things for the community. Instead we went to the places that had paid for us to show up. In the end it was all lip service, the mirage of good works a blast of publicity photos to make the program look good.

3.  People will hate or love you for no good reason.

Our handlers constantly reminded us of the train wreck that was Miss Teen South Carolina.  If it wasn’t bad enough that she embarrassed herself in front of the nation, fellow pageant people use her as an example of what not to do.

What I didn’t understand when I got into the pageant is that you instantly become a symbol for something bigger than yourself and you had better be prepared to deal with the people you now represent.  It’s like being a politician except worse, because you can’t make campaign promises to placate people. Instead you have to charm people with good looks and wit. If you fuck up publicly people are merciless because you just made them look bad. Sounds ridiculous right? Just look at any disgraced former beauty queen, the lucky ones like Vanessa Williams have to give up the title and get to be second rate actors. Poor Miss Teen South Carolina is now only known for rambling and is put up as the epitome of the airhead beauty queen. The lesson: people are okay with looking sexy, but not stupid.

hey ya'll

I’ve messed up in judging sessions, I feel her pain.

Our pageant was based on being elected from your city high school with an evening gown and speech. Basically imagine all the homecoming queens from every high school in your metropolitan area were pitted against each other to see who ruled the city as the supreme teen dream. That was my senior year. What didn’t enter my head was what my student body wanted to represent them. I didn’t think much about what everyone wanted or expected of me, all I was motivated by was how cool this would look on college applications and how much money I could get. I didn’t care, I should have, but I didn’t. That was my first big mistake. As the pageant went on it became clear that some of my constituents were displeased with me. I’d go to school and hear about how some people thought I didn’t deserve another accolade (did I mention I was an honor student?) or that I was too white (I am pretty light in the winter) to represent a school that had a majority of minority students. That stuff was hard to swallow while doing a full court press of publicity and volunteering from 8 am to 11 pm on the weekends and most weekdays. Once I cried by myself over it, thinking again and again, “Don’t they get how hard I’m working for them”.

mo accolades mo problems

Yes, this was a total first world problem.

The hate might have been harsh though the unexpected love, that straight up knocked me on my ass. I always expected haters, I never expected little girls from the neighborhoods that fed into my high school to swarm me with questions and admiration. Nor did I ever expect alumni to root for me on the sidelines of parade routes. I had no idea why people who had never met me would want my autograph or care if I won. We all want to belong to something bigger, even if it’s rooting for a person who happens to go to the same school as you. What I didn’t know was that I was now for a certain subset of people their favorite sports team. I was the wild card draft pick, some people were pissed I was drafted and didn’t think I deserved the honor of their team’s jersey, others thought I had potential. I figured out this sports analogy too late. Only at the end did I know I needed to try and win, not for myself, but for the people who I represented, for the lovers and the haters.

2. Living with your competition is torture. 

Pretend you are kidnapped and put into a room with 14 other smart, talented people. Now pretend that your kidnapper demands that you work together to complete community projects, dance routines and plays. You must do them all together even though in the end the kidnapper is going to kill all of you except for one he decides he likes. And you can’t get caught trying to off the other hostages to improve your odds otherwise you’ll get killed first. If you can imagine this Saw like fantasy then you can begin to understand what being in a pageant is like.

I want to play a game.

I did learn to appreciate my life.

Since my pageant wasn’t a major competitive Miss USA or America affiliate filled with hardened “I breath aqua net and had the Vaseline on my teeth for lunch since I was six” kind of girls it was bearable. Most of us just accepted our fate of not being picked as winner or Queen and decided to just have fun. I only encountered a few people who actively tried to kill me quietly off stage. One girl tried to pick a fight with me and I’m pretty sure wanted to get me angry enough to hit her. I guess she thought the pageant followed Real World rules where if you hit a fellow cast member you get booted.

when people stop being nice

A scientific approximation of what a fight might have looked like.

In all honesty I wanted to knock her out for calling my best friend a “trifflin ho”, but you know what I wanted more, money for college.  And all of the best sucker punches to her make-up’ed face that would knock her straight outta her heels could not give me money for textbooks.

not a way to make money for college

Sadly this doesn’t happen when you punch people.

Our handlers talked about us like we were sorority sisters and would become life long friends. We were friends and I’m still fb friends with all of them, although with tiaras off I can count on one hand how many times we’ve hung out. Personally I could never get close to them knowing that they were my competition and that if given the opportunity some of them might throw my ass under the bus. That basic knowledge had me in my shell the entire time looking over my shoulder. Trust no one was my motto.

A few of them figured out I was bi and I denied, denied, denied it. I never understood how people can just smell it on me! Luckily for me they were cool and didn’t mention it again. And even after that kindness I still couldn’t get the least bit close to them until everything was over. Which I’m pretty sure made everyone think I was a bitch since everyone I know already says I have a cold demeanor. I can’t imagine how I acted with paranoia thrown into the mix.

1. Becoming an object to be judged.

Lots of modern pageants repeat ad fin um that they are not about simple beauty contests. I am here to say that they are all dirty, filthy, liars. There’s a reason that men are not contestants in mainstream pageants and it’s not because they don’t want to degrade themselves for prizes. See any reality show ever.

a better way to make money?


It’s because only women and girls are objects.  Men and boys are expected to be three-dimensional people who are more than a pretty face, a talent and a well spoken crowd pleasing answer to political non sequiturs.  In the end what I learned most from my pageant experience was that pageants are the most ridiculous pure distilled form of sexism. I don’t see how doing press tours with pre-prepared comments, spending hours in the mirror putting yourself together, or shilling for corporate sponsors is empowering to women. I never felt like I had less of a voice than when I did that pageant. Everything was planned for me, from my clothes to what and when I could eat. For three years afterward I refused to eat salad because I ate it so often. Sure maybe my program just kind of sucked, but I’d bet money that it was pretty much the same as most. And don’t try to say I’m bitter cause I didn’t win, I was full on relieved as were my friends and family. My grandmother was praying I wouldn’t win, she knew it was killing me inside. If I won it would have meant three more months of press tours and salad. So much fucking salad.

Do you know how strange it is to be interviewed about your dreams and aspirations and have them evaluated? I do, that was a judging session for me. What kind of message does it send when you don’t win? “Your dreams are only so-so, we like this girl who wants to be a veterinarian more.”

I really have no idea how you take 14 over-achieving pretty teenagers and deem one of them better than the rest. It’s absurd and slightly cruel. One of my pageant mates never got over losing and entered a ton more pageants. It was the strangest thing to watch since I don’t think you could pay the rest of us to do another pageant.


Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

So if your thinking about entering a pageant for money or shits and giggles know these facts. I wish someone would have told me what I was signing up for. If you can accept these facts and be okay with middle aged women making snide remarks about what you wear, your weight or what you eat, then you can cut it in this racket kid. If not I suggest you get on those scholarship applications, I hear you can get money for duct tape prom dresses?

My very own George Zimmerman

I was deeply saddened by the news of the acquittal today. I’m a bit of a news junkie like my father so of course I saw the report this morning on CNN with my morning coffee. After seeing it I thought it was finally time that someone told the true story of how my Grandfather died.

Late one night after baby sitting a three year old me my Grandfather Vicente rode his bike home. My mother offered him a ride, but he refused. Hours later we found out that he was hit by a white woman in a pick up truck and died in the emergency room.

But that’s not the part of the story I think is truly tragic. The woman who hit him was not questioned about it or even detained. She didn’t even get so much as a traffic ticket. The local news paper “The Oregonian” reported that an illegal alien had been hit by a car and killed.

My father had brought my Grandfather to America because he wanted to be able to take care of him in his old age in a brand new condo, instead of the hut in the Philippines where he lived and was known as a peacekeeper within the community. My Father also wanted me to know my Grandfather and learn from him. I used to teach him english with “hooked on phonics” and he would teach me twali (Note: This is my best approximation at the spelling of the name of the dialect my family speaks. I know some filipino’s read my blog and if you could help me find any information on the area my family comes from I’d be much obliged we’re from Banaue and I can’t for the life of me find anything outside of geosites about it).

Apparently this cultural exchange worked; Vicente could speak and understand some English and my cousins tell me that I used to be fluent in twali. I would play with my grandfather for hours and he was one of the kindest men I’ve ever known. He even let me lock him in the closet for my own dumb version of hide and go seek.

After he died my father was devastated. He brought my grandfather here for a better life and instead he was killed and defamed as an illegal. Instead of sue the newspaper or the woman who killed my grandfather for damages my father did what my grandfather would have done and turned the other cheek. The funeral for Vicente in the Philippines was attended by hundreds. The procession to our family burial ground high in the mountains stretched at least a mile long. While America forgot and wiped him away, his home village gave him a funeral worthy of a king.

When my dad returned he put “hooked on phonics” in storage and never tried to speak twali to me again. When my mom tried to get him to teach me, he replied, “She’s an American”.

I used to think this was him being callous and lazy. Now I think he might have been trying to make me as American as possible so that I didn’t stand out. So that if I got hit by a truck I would have justice.

This situation is not exactly like the Zimmerman case (nor am I saying it is), but it’s not unusual for people of color to be killed and for no questions to be asked in America. Or for the person killed to be vilified. This needs to change.

I would not at all be surprised if every non-white family had a story like this. In fact if you do I’d love to hear it because all too often our stories are not told in an attempt to protect ourselves or because we’re too disheartened to even speak our loved ones name. I know my father is.

My heart goes out to Trayvon’s family. It is a tragedy to lose someone and a travesty to have no justice for them because of ugly racism.

To my own George Zimmerman, the woman who killed my Grandfather:

My dad forgave you, but I don’t. I’m sure you’ve lived your life without much thought on what happened that night. But I don’t really think you should be punished after all these years, it was an accident. I’m sure you don’t drive GTA style looking to kill people. I just wish you knew how important and loved the man who you killed that night was. He was not just some illegal alien. And that no matter what you accomplish in your life you will never, ever have as many people attend your funeral. Also your plot will not have an amazing view either.


At the top of one of these mountains is my Grandfather, my Lolo

Naked Sexism

So I was watching my new favorite show on discovery channel: Naked Castaway. This British dude is fucking amazing. He makes all sorts of stuff on an island in Fiji and survives there for 61 days by himself. Anyways I digress what I want to address is the show I watched after Naked Castaway, Naked and Afraid.


This is the episode that inspired this rant.

Now first of all the name. Naked and Afraid is a survival reality show just like Naked Castaway, but with a shorter period of time on the castaway location and with two people. Specifically a man and a woman who both have survival experience, don’t know each other and want a challenge. First of all why does the show with a woman in it need to have the word afraid in the title? The brit in Naked Castaway is seriously afraid of something at least once an episode and with good fucking reason, he could starve, dehydrate or even be eaten by sharks. Every other reality survival show I know of has a rugged name.



Guy, versus wild

Man versus wild

Dual survival

And of course Naked Castaway

Note that none of these shows have any women in them.

(And if you’re going to try to come at me and say Man, Woman, Wild should be included and shown as proof society isn’t sexist forget it. That show is about a married couple that does survival challenges, but instead of at least being on somewhat equal footing like Naked and Afraid the husband is the only one trained in survival. So as you might guess hubby is pulling most of the weight and teaching wiffy how to survive in the wild as they move along. Yah traditional gender roles!)



That’s right stay in the kitchen.

The dynamic between survivors is super unhealthy and extremely gendered. Each episode seems to be an expensive way to teach slightly misogynistic men who also happen to be into survival skills that woman are fucking useful and can hold their own in a survival situation. Sometimes they can even take care of your ass when you get so sunburned you can’t move or when you drink dirty water (against their advice) and get diarrhea. btw this all happened to one contestant and the woman taking care of him even talked to him about how she was trying not to take the lead in their survival plans so she wouldn’t hurt his man feelings.

I can understand not trying to bust a guys balls over trivia night at a bar or in the office, but you’re deserted on a god forsaken desert island in the middle of fuck nowhere!!! You are allowed to be assertive when it come to not dying. Does anyone else see how society has socialized women to be submissive even when submission may mean death? We have been told from birth that we are less than and this is the result. A full grown, capable, smart and savy woman with years of survival knowledge taking the backseat to a less experienced man because she’s afraid to breech gender roles. This is ridiculous!



We can’t hurt the mens feelings.

And it doesn’t make for good television. When half the program is focused on the two survivors trying to get over the roles society had assigned them at birth to come together and get shit done, it’s tedious. I’ve watched two episodes and half of each consisted of the same tired conversation. The guy slowly coming to the realization women are worth something other than sandwich makers and sex givers and the woman complaining that the guy is underestimating her abilities. Boring and insulting. If this is on television and actually interesting to audiences I am disappointed in society, very disappointed. Even the show runners reinforce gender roles with the survival rating they give the contestants before they let the contestants loose. In the maldives episode (see pic up top) the survival experts who choose the contestants downgraded the woman’s score because she had little experience working with military types. Why wasn’t the man’s score also downgraded for not having experience working with surfer hawaiian tropical survival experts (which the woman was)? Oh wait, only women are expected to work around strong personalities.



There is a reason this picture is so big. It expresses my sentiments.

It’s 2013 and this is sexism bullshit is still a thing. Do people just think humans evolved with the gender roles of the woman at home waiting to be protected and the man doing everything? If this was the case we never would have survived as a species!!! In fact early woman was an adventure seeker, who left her native home to seek out a mate.

I can tell you one thing, if I were ever stuck in a survival situation and a guy tried to get me to follow his lead and drink water without boiling it I’d tell him that’s a dumb fucking idea and slap him if he tried to drink the water. I don’t have time to take care of a person with diarrhea and survive myself. Then again I’ve been known to be a ball buster.



What I think of sexism in 2013

Travel Tips for the Terrible

Rules are for fools, that’s what my semi-hobo after college life has taught me. And air travel is a savage competitive sport which is what I learned after my first southwest cattle call boarding. I really can’t remember another time when I’ve had a soccer mom openly elbow me out of the way to get in line or have a middle aged man not so sneakily try to stealth cut me. So you want the competitive edge at the airport? Take my advice and fight dirty.

1. Dress for Success

Since TSA screenings require you to take off your clothes, we should all just embrace it. Air travel now favors the slutty and the TSA will see you naked in the body scan anyways. So my advice is to wear things that are easy to take off (especially shoes!) and make them slutty (if you happen to be a woman or a beautiful man). It is way easier to get through TSA at LAX with a plunging neckline than it is in a turtleneck. How do I know? I did it. I had to wait for my boyfriend for 10 min as I breezed past the security. I didn’t even do this on purpose, but I saw the TSA gawk as they waved me through so I thought why not? Now I wear a ridiculous neckline every time I fly. On my last trip from Florida a man in front of me in line let me cut him and lifted my bags for me. So I’d say it’s a win. And for those that will say I’m furthering the patriarchy… well your right, but I am willing to sell my feminist values for cutting my TSA time in half. I get so little use out of my feminine wiles anyways, whatever those are supposed to be.

As for men I’d suggest pants that show off your ass. I don’t know if it would work for you, though I can tell you I’d throughly enjoy it.


Pictured: Not really working

2. Use the Handicap Stall

I pull a George Costanza in the bathroom anytime I have luggage with me. While most good airports will make normal stalls larger for luggage to be brought in with you this isn’t always true and it certainly isn’t true of train stations. If you’re worried a person in a wheel chair might actually need the stall while your there and you’ll be shamed as you walk out I can tell you in 23 years of doing this, that has never happened. If that doesn’t assure you, know that there are 1.6 million wheelchair users in the USA and 313.9 million people in the USA total. Your chance of running into a wheelchair user is slim. And after being stuck on a plane all day squeezing me and my luggage into a tiny metal stall is not on my to do list. Honestly I will go to the handicap stall and just stretch while pooping. It’s relaxing.


After a 16hr flight it really feels like this.

 3. Don’t take your liquids out of your bag, in fact, fuck it take your liquids everywhere.

I can’t even count the number of times I’ve gotten away with not taking my liquids out or bringing an entire full size bottle of shampoo on the plane. I don’t even understand why the TSA even tries with this anymore.

4. On the SW cattle call use your luggage to trip up queue jumpers.

In the UK, queue jumping or line cutting as we Americans call it is punishable by death. Well not really though they take it as a serious offense. Us Americans and our freedom from the crown has made us impatient and rude. You basically want to build a wall between those behind you and the plane entrance. So to prevent the creeping cutters from getting over on you while waiting for the southwest cattle call I suggest that you fan your luggage out at your sides as much as possible. You can even tip over a roller bag to hit a cutter and prevent them from running on the plane. Because you sure as hell are not getting stuck sitting next to the crying infant in front of you.


Told you it was punishable by death.

Travel tips that everyone should already know, but fuckers still have not figured out :

- If you’re a man you cannot piss standing up on a plane. You just fucking can’t and you guys who keep doing it just end up getting piss everywhere when the plane hits turbulence. If you already have trouble aiming on stable land trying while traveling 550 mph is not going to make things better. Stop fucking up a bathroom we all have to share cause you’re so insecure in your masculinity that pissing while sitting down will rob you of all your manliness. 

- Can we all just agree to drug the infants and animals? It’s cruel enough to put adult humans in economy airline seating, of course infants and animals will not like it. At least adults can medicate themselves with booze or other substance while on or before the flight, infants and animals cannot. Give your baby some drowsy cold medicine and get a sedative from the vet for your dog or cat. It’s only humane. And if you don’t do these things don’t even attempt to give me a dirty look as I grumble and curse about your screaming bundle of joy. You might be used to the crying and can sleep through it, but I sure as shit am not and if you’re in front of me I will kick your seat intermittently through the flight so you can’t sleep either.

- Know the TSA guidelines. I have no patience for the person in front of me who stops the line because they have shoes on still or jewelry. These are things you can’t get away with.

While I disliked the SW cattle call, their staff rocks btw.

May the skies be friendly to you.

Interview Bullshit

So I told you all that I went to an insane interview a few weeks back. Lucky for me my prize for surviving said insane interview was a 2nd round interview / presentation.

Though I have to say at this point I’m fucking sick of jumping through hoops for lackluster jobs. Mostly I’m raging right now that after a phone interview two months ago the hiring manager finally contacted me for an in person interview after I basically called / emailed and begged for a reply for two weeks. Now I have a job (internship) that is supposed to prepare me for full time work, but they won’t let me have any time off for an interview. What a fucking catch 22. Rage.


What searching for a job feels like.

The worst, most insane interview I was ever on included these questions:

1. If you could go to dinner with any three people who would they be and why?

2. What happens once a minute, twice a moment and never in a thousand years?

3. If it takes Ron 2 hours to dig 1 hole how long would it take Ron and Lisa to dig 1 1/2 holes?

4. What sporting event would you want to go to and why? (This was an essay question)

5. Present to me an abstract concept you learned about in school.

Now imagine trying to answer all of these in a full suit in a stuffy hot office since the AC was out that day. Although considering the strange questions / test and writing sample the heat was probably part of a psychological profile they were recording of me through a two way mirror. I honestly did look for cameras.

How do riddles apply to my job performance? Seriously. I wish we could all just cut the bullshit and tell each other the truth. I’m here for this job cause I’m broke. It is not my dream, but if you treat me well and pay me I promise not to leave. I’m also punctual. Honestly that is all you fucking need to know about me. Fuck this shit I’m going to go listen to some wu.


Can we just keep it real?

Good News Everyone!

So I finally got a job (paid internship). And I managed to claw my way out of the city. I’m in Mass again where I think I belong. My Oregon blood demands foliage close by. Sorry if you wanted to hear more about nyc hijinks though I think I can afford more hijinks in Mass anyways. 


Me, contemplating life without the 7 train. 

I also have been Julie and Julia-ing my way through a filipino cookbook that I know for a fact that a nyt reviewed filipino joint uses. I cooked beef tapa and I don’t know whether I fucked up or it’s supposed to be that salty. Knowing pinoy food I did it right and just need more rice. I’ll put up pics once I make something more challenging / photogenic. 

And I have a blog about the most insane interview ever coming up too.