Resume Tips That Might Actually Work

 Let me start by saying I'm not looking for a job.

I'm content where I am. Even if I were less than content, I loathe the job-hunting process with the heat of twelve hundred supernovas. And at this stage of my career, when my job starts getting me down I think about my bank account (comfy-ish), my retirement savings (ouchy-ish), and my personal motto ("suck it up, buttercup") and simply hunker down to endure the next round of bullshit.

Of all the things in life that don't love me back,
my job is the least of my worries.

I sympathize with job seekers, though. My own Precocious Daughter is one of them. She's smart, talented, educated, and hard working, but she's currently underemployed and shooting out resumes like a damn t-shirt cannon, with limited success. And when she's finally successful, what will she have? A fucking job. As reward-to-effort ratios go, landing a fucking job is right up there with spending $30 at a carnival booth to win an inflatable clown hammer.

You can't even beat your enemies senseless
with this damn thing.

Nonetheless, a job is a pretty necessary thing to have for most of us, and a resume is the way most of us get our foot in the door with the companies that are handing out said jobs. That's why so much advice geared toward employment-seekers centers around crafting a solid resume. 

Judging by the resumes I read, either as part of my own job or from frequenting subreddits devoted to resume writing, approximately 98% of that advice is routinely misunderstood and/or ignored. There are some seriously weak CVs floating around out there.

For instance, I saw a resume today where the job-seeker, in the very first sentence of their summary, referred to themselves as "seasoned, dedicated, and resourceful." Three words in (not counting the conjunction), and two of them were weasel words. That's not a ratio that will land you a job, Clyde. Here's why:

First of all, "seasoned" sounds like an attempt to find a fancier, cooler word than "experienced." But it's not. To the resume reader/algorithm, it comes across as either a euphemism for "I learned to type during the Carter administration" or a weird allusion to rubbing oil and salt into a cast iron frying pan. Neither is going to award you any points, and may in fact get you stereotyped as a little old lady/man who's preoccupied with cooking blogs. 

On to "dedicated." "Dedicated" says nothing. Literally nothing. I can almost guarantee that no hiring manager will ever want to know if you're "dedicated." They want to know if you'll put up with a daily onslaught of bullshit from the multiple competing layers of management you'll be reporting to. That takes the opposite of dedication - it requires not giving a rat's scaly-tailed ass about anything but keeping your boss off your back. So don't use a word that implies you care, because the screening algorithm doesn't.

Then there's "resourceful." This is actually a very good word to use on a resume. It implies certain useful and desirable skills. It's a deceptively inoffensive word that can mean anything from "I will keep a detailed inventory of where the bodies are buried and deploy it as needed" to "My advanced Google Fu will make you look like you know what the fuck you're doing instead of the obvious truth." Your straightest path to success is to establish yourself as the person who gets shit done. Note: This is separate and distinct from being the person who actually does shit themselves. Strive to be the former without being the latter. That's a person who brings value to the organization. And that's why "resourceful" is an ace resume word. Highly recommended.

In that same vein, here are some other more powerful substitutes to excite the algorithm and make your resume stand out from those of your weasel-worded competitors.

Weak: Utilized

Strong: Smashed

Weak: Leveraged

Strong: Lightly blackmailed

Weak: Supported

Strong: Continually saved the ass of

Weak: Optimized

Strong: Un-fucked

Weak: Discretion

Strong: Screaming silently

Weak: Tact

Strong: Screaming silently

Weak: Facilitated

Strong: Slapped sense into

Weak: Contributor

Strong: Shit-shoveler first class

Weak: Learned

Strong: Tempered in fire

Weak: Provided

Strong: Handled like a fucking boss

Go ahead. Introduce some of these words into your next resume. See if you don't have prospective employers lining up to offer you a life of stress and limited recognition. 

But if all else fails, type all the weasel words in white 4pt text into the bottom of your resume before you upload it. The algorithm gods will be pleased.

Wanted: A Word for This Feeling

It's late where I am. It's the end of a long day.

Way too keyed up to sleep, though.

You know how we have the totally-a-legit-word "hangry" to describe hunger-induced anger? I think we need a word to describe when you're simultaneously exhausted but hyper-awake from working like a mofo at something.

Like..."exhited." Or "hypooped." Or "sleePINGPINGPING!!!"

I'll work on it.

Tomorrow I'll work on it. Right now I'm freaking tired. Yet wide awake. I'm "twiwake."

Yeah, not there yet.

I'm going to troll some people on Twitter, maybe, and then go to bed.

Love you guys.

Good night.

Life Beyond 1980's Power Ballads

An old song very randomly jumped into my head today.

Get ready for an earworm.

OMG, Google, I love you so much.

Remember The Karate Kid, Part II?

The year was 1986. We were all wearing oversize shirts,
pleated pants, and, uh, kimono blouses, I guess.

Remember "The Glory of Love"?

Remember Peter Cetera's hair?

Peter Cetera, the former lead singer of Chicago, had decided that Chicago simply rocked too hard with songs like "Colour My World" and "No Tell Lover" and struck out on his own with his mellow vibe and incredible golden waves of feathery blondeness. His first solo effort was the theme song to The Karate Kid, Part II, "The Glory of Love." Even if you didn't see the movie, the song was everywhere. And on MTV, the video was in extra-super-mega-hard-heavy rotation for a large part of 1986.

And if you're under 40, chances are you don't know what the hell I'm talking about. So here's the video; prepare to be devoured by the 1980s for the next four and a half minutes.




Pastels? Check. Japanese imagery? Check. Awkwardly incorporated film clips? Check. Peter Cetera gazing soulfully into the camera while layers of keyboards wash over you like ocean waves?

Damn, I think I just checked myself.

Anyway. I have to own this song as part of my '80s experience, just as much as working at a video store and wearing brightly colored oversized blazers and drinking wine coolers.

But as part of my older-but-wiser, 21st-century experience, I have to say that "The Glory of Love" contains some of the creepiest, least emotionally healthy lyrics I've ever heard.

I didn't realize that in the '80s. Believe it or not, young women of 2015, in 1986 it was considered romantic for a man to sing lines like "I am a man who will fight for your honor/I'll be the hero that you're dreaming of."

We wanted a 40-year-old pop crooner to save us from dishonor. Or at least promise he would do so in a Top 40 power ballad.

May I also remind you that this was
considered the face of female empowerment
at the time. The '80s were weird.

Today I hear those lyrics and I think: Well, thank you, Mr. Peter Cetera, but if we're even going to cling to the outdated notion that my honor is something to be defended, it's goddamn well going to be me who defends it.

And to quote Alice Childress (who truly is to be admired), a hero ain't nothin' but a sandwich.

Yet as nostalgically corny as those lines are, let's not forget that they are immediately preceded by these:

Sometimes I just forget
Say things I might regret
It breaks my heart to see you crying
I don't wanna lose you
I could never make it alone

If you've ever been in an abusive relationship, you may be shuddering right now.

If you've never been in an abusive relationship and think those words are kind of sweet and charming...I'm going to suggest some self-care and "you" time, because this is not what you deserve. Trust me.

If you don't believe me, perhaps you'll believe
beloved grumpy cat Tardar Sauce.

And this?

I have always needed you
I could never make it alone

Two pieces of advice:

1. Don't ever say this to another person
2. If another person ever says this to you, RUN.

I hate to think that Peter Cetera's picture appears in the dictionary next to the word "co-dependent." But shit, man.

Please tell me we've evolved from thinking this is a love song and not grounds for a restraining order.

Wait, one more couplet, because facepalm.

Just in time I will save the day
Take you to my castle far away

I have excellent credit, and I'll buy my own castle, thanks.

You can live there with me and help pay the bills, as long as you don't get caught up in your Prince Charming fantasies.

Christ on a sidecar.

Google fucking rocks.

Oh, 1980s. You shaped me. And every day I'm striving to reshape myself. I'm getting there.

Peter Cetera: Love your voice. Love your '80s hair. Hate those lyrics.

Ralph Macchio: Where are you? You totally deserve a Robert Downey, Jr. - size comeback.

P.S. I miss MTV, yo.

This Post Has (Almost) Everything I Love

Guys.

Remember in 2012, when the remains of King Richard III were found under a freaking parking lot?

He looks rather peeved about being dumped unceremoniously
in the ground, as well a freaking King of England should.

Well, today he got a royal re-burying. Check this out: His remains were positively identified thanks to DNA from a living descendant. But this relative isn't just any relative: He's a cabinet-maker, so he made the goddamn coffin Richard finally got to have after 530 years.

How cool is that?

And then, something happened that I now demand be duplicated at my own funeral (in approximately 80 years): Benedict Cumberbatch read a poem written specially for the occasion.

It would totally be worth it to be an unnoticed heap of bones for 500 years if Benedict Cumberbatch showed up to read me a poem at the end of it all.

The poem, by the way, is gorgeous. It was written by Britain's poet laureate, Carol Ann Duffy, who turns out to be pretty good at this kind of thing.

Have you ever read/seen Shakespeare's Richard III? You know: "Now is the winter of our discontent," "A horse, my kingdom for a horse," and my personal favorite, "Dispute not with her; she is lunatic."

Seriously, if you've never read it or it's been a while, go here and have at it.

Oh yeah, and watch this about 50 times.





I love everything about this story. Someone should write a play about it. Or at least a sonnet. Or an episode of "Sherlock."

Definitely going to watch the video a few more times.

Bloggers (and Others), Please Read

I love to learn.

I mean, holy shit, "Sesame Street," amirite?

And I love words. So when I learn a new word, I basically have a lexigasm.

Totally a thing.

Here's the word I learned today, via Twitter user First Clown.

If it didn't exist, I would have had to invent it.

Shit yes, goddammit.

I honestly don't mean to hurt or offend people (except when I absolutely do mean to), but sometimes the pleasure it brings to curse like a fucking sailor gets the better of decorum.

I'm so goddamned glad there's a word for this shit. English totally fucking rocks.

If you don't agree, go to hell, assclown.

Well, that's literal.

If you also experience lalochezia, let the world know. It's not an affliction, it's just the way we are.

Shit yeah.

Sheesh. Or Is It Shitch?

This one time I was reading a book about vampires - it could have been Dracula, but hey, I've read a lot of books about vampires, so I'm not 100% sure.

Let's face it, it probably was Dracula,
 because I've read it soooo many times.

In any event, I was reading the book, and suddenly the word "blood" went all funny on me.

Has this ever happened to you? You're reading something, and there's a certain word that recurs throughout, and you read it and repeat it in your head over and over until it stops existing as a word and just collapses into a pile of meaningless letters that no longer make sense to your brain.

...that is the question.

That happened to me with the word "blood." My brain refused to acknowledge its actual pronunciation and meaning and decided that it was simply a string of letters that rhymed with "food." I lost my entire ability to comprehend what I was reading because my eyes focused in every instance of that one word and made my brain go "blooooooood." I finally had to put the book down, because you know, if you can't make your brain understand the word "blood," there's not much point in reading a book about vampires.

Watching this over and over has almost the same effect.
Go on, try it.

That doesn't really have much to do with what I'm going to talk about next. I just thought it was interesting.

So. You know the word niche?

Look at it until it loses all meaning, mwahahaha.

Without thinking, say it out loud.

How did you pronounce it?

Did you say "nitch"?

Or did you say "neesh"?

If you said "Nietzsche," you go way back and sit down.

I'm only asking because I recently realized that I've started to say "neesh" instead of "nitch." I'm pretty sure I used to say "nitch." I'm a girl from the south side of Milwaukee, and that sounds like a very Southsider pronunciation, like saying "root" so that it rhymes with "foot." 

By the way, I've assiduously trained myself over the years to say "roooot" instead of "rut," as well as "bag" instead of "baig."

And I almost never say this.

Those were all conscious decisions I made when I moved to a part of the country where such pronunciations weren't the norm. And they happened a long time ago. I'm not sure when my brain decided to say "neesh" instead of "nitch," but I know it was only in the last few years. I don't know exactly when, and I have no idea why. 

It's entirely possible that I've become pretentious and simply decided that the more French-sounding pronunciation made me sound smarter. I have no problem admitting such a thing; I'm somewhat self-obsessed and sometimes pedantic and I want people to think I'm smart DO YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THAT?

What.

The thing is, both Google and Dictionary.com give the pronunciation of the word niche as "nitch." Merriam Webster offers "neesh" or "nish" only as a secondary pronunciation. Clearly, whether I think "neesh" is the preferred way to say it means bupkus. Yet here I am, with all of my neuro-linguistic pathways convinced that the Frenchified version is the correct one.

This non-stereotypical Frenchman agrees.

I guess I just want to know if I'm crazy, if I'm the only one who says "neesh" instead of "nitch." And if so, do I need to knock it off? Clearly I've proven that I can train myself to say things differently if I think it's in my best interest to do so. I just need a reason.

So what do you think?

Nitch?

Or Neesh?

Or Get a life and worry about something even slightly important, you moron?

Let me know.

Safe Words

So, guys, if I'm ever abducted by aliens and replaced with a cyborg-clone-pod, how would you ever know?

Because they can be convincingly lifelike.

I mean, some of you know me pretty well, and some of you only know me through my writing, and some of you have little private jokes with me that go back decades, and some of you have only known me as a mom and...the point is, any reasonably sophisticated impostor could probably fool most of you, most of the time. With that power, who knows what they could incite you to do based on your faith and trust in me as a person?

Uh...sure, I guess a few of us could jump into your mouth.
You've never steered us wrong before.

That's why I think we need some safe words. Because an impersonator will always slip up sometime. Like when a spy pretends knowledge of a secret program that doesn't actually exist, or a con artist claims friendship with someone who died years earlier. Or when Norman Bates charged into the fruit cellar dressed as his dead mother and his wig fell off.

Everyone knew Mrs. Bates was a leftie.

In order to thwart the aliens, I'm going to give you some seemingly innocuous statements that nonetheless should alert you to something being amiss. These are things that the real me would never, ever say, so if someone who appears to be me utters them, you know you're in the presence of a cyborg-clone-pod. And you should whack them with a large melon before they can realize whatever evil scheme they planned to perpetrate by pretending to be a beloved writer, before they completely screwed up by abducting me instead.

Got that?

Just know that if I ever make any of these statements, I'm a goddamn alien, OK?

"I'm sorry, but there aren't enough grilled onions on my hamburger."

"I think my next dog will be a Shih Tzu, or perhaps a Pomeranian."

"Please accept this mixtape of my favorite songs by the Eagles."

"I would love to attend your Bible study, but next week you must attend mine."

"A cold glass of tomato juice sounds refreshing."

"If only Al Gore had won in 2000. He would have been the best President ever."

"I want a man who hasn't fallen for that feminism bullshit."

"I don't really listen to the lyrics."

"Winning a huge lottery jackpot just seems to create more problems than it solves."

"Just give me a full-size pickup truck and a case of Bud Light, and I'm a happy girl."

"Ted Cruz for President."

"I'm going to try steaming my vagina like Gwyneth Paltrow."

"I own way too many earrings."

"Let's go to Starbucks!"

"Benedict Cumber-who?"

Remain vigilant, Drunkards. They're out there.