Master Sarah

Well, I've had a particularly depressing day, since I decided to search for jobs. Gah. It seems that I am no more qualified for 99% of jobs than I was before graduate school. This is a pretty standard joke in my life, but I'm now thinking that I may actually be less qualified than I used to be. I suppose that's what happens when you spend two years in the library drinking tea out of a thermos and buying progressively larger scarves.

Check me out, right now:

 Anybody ever notice the percentage of people who get picked for What Not to Wear that are graduate students? Well, it's about 50%, and the rest are retired strippers.

Don't worry though, I'm applying for Ph.D. programs next year, then I'll be really valuable to employers. I'm playing with a few jokes here, let me know what you think.

-"Hi, I'm Dr. Sarah and I'll be taking care of you tonight. Can I get you some drinks?"
-Maybe I'll change the language to reflect my advanced degrees, "Ah yes, hello. I'm Dr. Sarah (holds for applause). I'm pleased to be here today to present my semiotic analysis of your menu. (pulls out laser pointer) Please hold your questions."
-Craigslist ad: Do you like pictures of naked people? Well, I can tell you about the social and historical environment from whence they came! $10/hour.
-At least I'll be able to to be on ProActive infomercials: "I'm Dr. Sarah and I am indeed wearing a white lab coat..." (Flashing below screen: Holds a Ph.D in Art History).

Goodness. Anyway, I'll get a job and stuff. I'm actually very much looking forward to a year off, even if that includes a job that doesn't have anything to do with large scarves, where no one will call my Master Sarah. Wait! Maybe I could train young children to use light sabers. "Light Saber 1010, with Master Sarah." Some days I have so much trouble focusing on my graduate work that I end up doing things that aren't particularly relevant, like yoga in my office, or taking frequent trips to the free candy dish in the offices downstairs. Sometimes, I even end up online talking to myself. Can you imagine?

Ah, crap.