Lindsay was a guest at a wedding. The couple’s reception followed the ceremony and the festivities continued. Lindsay, an attractive, energetic, friendly woman, began talking to a fellow wedding guest. She had never met the man before, but he seemed nice enough. She had a casual drink with him. Things slowly progressed throughout the evening and conversation was followed by a kiss or two. Lindsay had no intentions of moving any further with a man she just met and she told him that. The man offered her another drink and she accepted. Soon an unnatural paralysis traveled through her body. Away from the rest of the wedding guests, Lindsay could feel the man removing her clothing. Everything went blank. Minutes later, Lindsay woke up and the man was on top of her and inside of her. She was being rapped.
It started with a large, hexagonal washer. The symmetry and unusual weight of the washer tempted me, and it soon found in home in my pocket. Before I gave much thought, a keychain, a perfectly untouched nail, and a few other odds and ends neighbored that washer inside my pocket.
- 86% of managers will reportedly hire someone they like rather than someone who meets all the job requirements.
- Based on information gathered by the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, it takes an average of 24.9 weeks to get hired.
- Generally the first person to follow up with a company after submitting an application has a 95% chance to be offered the position. However, many companies include disclaimers discouraging follow up calls.
- Statistics reveal 50-90% of all jobs are not posted online or listed in print.
- Based on some calculations there are roughly 100 applicants for every posted/listed job.
- Many companies no longer use humans to review applicant information; rather, they use software to detect specific job descriptors.
- My confidence in finding a job depends entirely on the songs that shuffle into my iTunes’ playlist. John Legend’s “If You’re Out There” guarantees an “I’m-going-to-be-the-first-female-president-of-the-United-States” kind of motivation, Smash Mouth’s “All Star” fosters confusion and a renegade spirit, and the US Navy’s “Anchors Aweigh” tempts me to abandon all plans and enlist in the armed forces.
- I signed up for LinkedIn in order to network more easily, but it has become the bane of my existence. LinkedIn is the awkward third cousin of the social networking family. Its job recommendations are impossible to take seriously.
- I have considered applying for the doctor and/or lawyer positions that have shown up in my online search results. If the internet database thinks I’m qualified, maybe I am. I could be selling myself short by not applying. Catch me if you can style.
- In the debate about relocating out of state, the availability of Packer games on network T.V. has been added to my pro/con list. Also, the availability of cheese curds that squeak.
- I spend about as much time looking up apartments on Craigslist in prospective communities as I do looking for jobs themselves.
- I have fantasies about being the hip new employee—the one who brings the tastiest treats to the break room and tells the funniest jokes. “That Melanie. She’s the greatest.” they would say.
- At one point after several discouraging days of searching, I stopped job searching all together and started looking once again at graduate schools. The problem with that plan has always been the fear of committing to one program. It’s one thing to get bachelors degree you don’t use; it’s entirely different to earn a masters degree and then decide that field is just not your cup of tea.
- I have had several phone interviews thus far. The interviews are most often conducted while I sit on my bed in lounge wear, grimacing every time I give a less than succinct answer. I have sold my skills and talents sufficiently enough to secure on sight interviews and additional contact in a few cases. I can’t help but wonder, though, do they suspect I’m wearing lounge wear? Maybe they can hear it in my voice… the sound of comfortable waistbands echoing through my responses.
- I drove to Memphis for an interview, and during my trip the check engine light flashed red on my dashboard. I was six hundred plus miles from home as I desperately sought the help of two mechanics who told me my car’s transmission was bad. So now, in attempts to further my professional career and expand my bank account, I am instead emptying my pockets to pay for car that is mocking my efforts to be responsible.
- My degree qualifies me for specific types of therapy positions and my experience qualifies me to work in the non-profit social services world. In other words, I'm a professional mutt; I might have the best of both "breeds" but I'm no pedigree winner.
I don’t believe in karma, but I do believe in humbling situations. During my last Burkinabe’ hurrah at Nazinga Animal Park my innate warrior-like ego was bruised. Let me begin by saying my twin sister, Megan, is one of the bravest people I know for moving to Burkina Faso three years ago without knowing the language or a single soul. Her boldness and fearless creativity are admirable. But in the same breath I can say with confidence, Megan is also one of the biggest scaredy cats I’ve ever had the privilege of loving. For example, if the lighting is dim, an exaggerated breath is enough to make her jump and grope for the nearest body. And at our family cottage she doesn’t dare to walk to the end of the driveway past dusk for fear a bear might be waiting for her there. You can see how it was easy for my pride to get in the way when I learned I’d be staying solo in a bungalow in the middle of Africa. I made sure to point out the fact that Megan wouldn’t survive a night alone with a sound mind under the same circumstances. My story thus begins…
His hospital bed was angled in a small room, framed by oxygen tanks, folded linens, and medical tubes. With tears freely flowing and arms reached out toward their patriarch, his four children and devoted wife laid their hands upon him and cried out in prayer. They never questioned the reason for his suffering; they never spoke out angrily toward God. Instead they voiced words of thanksgiving and confident praises. The prayer was continuous. Unearthly words flowed from the tongues of children to mother, all the while he labored for every heartbeat and every breath. His body was worn.
The oldest twin was first to speak out in prayer. The steadiness of her voice was breached by the conflicting emotions of sadness and joy. Her many similarities with her dad historically produced the perfect storm in the heat of an argument. Never accepting the damages as done and valuing the importance of reconciliation, he wouldn’t allow anger to harbor. As he neared his end, she couldn’t remember the cause of these conflicts from their past, but she remembered the way in which he lovingly treated her to lunch in order to mend what was hurt and communicate respect in the midst of disagreement.
Following her twin sister’s prayer the youngest twin gazed at her dad, seeing his weakness but remembering his strength. She trusted him implicitly. Whether in need of directions or in need of an honest opinion, she turned to him. Even when lost in thickness of the north woods at Lake LaFave, she put her trust in her dad- the driver of the antiquated jeep, the explorer of unexplored woods, the “man who could fix anything.”
I willingly admit that I fall into that second category. I respectfully despise running. I, however, fall into a third category of running folk as well; people who run because they don’t know how to “exercise” creativity when it comes to exercising. I turn to running because I don’t know where else to turn.
Then comes the topic of winter running. Crazy, you might think…and you’re right. There is nothing logical about running in cold weather. In fact, even a body’s cells argue against it. So for your enjoyment and my need to process things in writing, I’ve compiled a list of unpleasantries associated with winter running.
Though the winter has been mild so far, harsh weather is impending for sure, so I thought I’d share my sentiments with you, my eight patient readers.