In The Future, We’ll All Be Wearing Granny Panties
As you may remember, we’ve moved back to Denver, where the cost of living is higher and psychologists are a dime-a-dozen, so my caseload is smaller and my net income is lower. There are all manner of shrinks panhandling on streetcorners for patients, hawking their wares like carnival barkers: “Chakras! Get yer chakras buffed here!” and “We’ll process your family-of-origin issues for 50% less than the other gal”. It’s cutthroat. But it’s okay, because it keeps me sharp as well as grateful for what I got. Which brings me to my majestic point.
We’re in a recession. For anyone who has ever spent more than 2 years in grad school, this is pretty much more of same. I spent ages 22-30 as a very po person in my very own personal recession. How did I survive?
1. I ate cheap. I don’t mean I ate Ramen noodles all the time (although my internal organs are now pretty much made of MSG). I almost always brought my lunch or dinner to school or work. I bought in bulk whenever possible, used coupons, and rarely bought brand-name anything. I cooked in large batches and froze what I could. I didn’t usually buy vending machine food because of the giant markup. Well, and because I needed those quarters for laundry.
2. I lived sans student loans for the 1st 3 years. I didn’t own a credit card until my 3rd year, and even then I only used it for larger purchases like airline tickets, car rentals, and conference registrations. Unfortunately I forgot to pay it off for like 5 years, but that’s another story.
3. I walked a lot, even when I could have driven.
4. Socializing often consisted of inviting friends over to watch TV like X-Files, Millenium, etc. Sometimes we’d potluck, sometimes someone would cook. It was very simple but a lot of fun. We shared our VCR tapes with each other, sort of like a flintstonesey version of Netflix.
5. My friends and I would do a lot of lowbrow stuff; farmers’ markets, street fairs, garage sales, auctions, country festivals, etc. We went to local bars to hear bands, rarely to large venues. Sometimes we’d just wander out to a nearby state park and drive around, admiring the scenery. We bowled. We went to the $2 cinema. We took walks in the old Victorian parts of town. It was decidedly low-key, and admittedly by some folks’ standards probably a bit boring. But the point wasn’t to be part of some hip urban scenester thingy, it was to enjoy each others’ company and to experience a break from the strain of research, practicum, exams, jobs. And to get stinking drunk.
6. I bought a lot of my furniture used, except for my mattress and box spring. Dr. Ding does not sleep on dried-up pee. I went to garage sales and hauled bookcases home in the back of my verysmall Nissan. I spray-painted ugly crap to make it look like new and spiffy crap. I draped Xmas lights over lots of stuff. Worked.
7. Bartering. This was pretty informal; help setting up a garage sale for a homemade pizza dinner, or a pair of inline skates for a sewing table. Sometimes my girlfriends and I would do clothing exchanges, complete w/accessories. Note: always wear deodorant when attending one of these. Trust.
8. For clothes, I shopped the clearance racks almost exclusively, and would time big purchases like winter coats or interview suits for those big semi-annual blowout department store sales. I bought a lot of my wardrobe staples at Target and Wal-Mart, basics like t-shirts, turtlenecks, sweats, hose, socks and undies where it didn’t make much difference in terms of quality. I repaired my own hemlines, buttons, and cuffs. I was like some kind of goddamned Laura Ingalls Motherfuckin Wilder, I was.
9. My friends and I would plan our trips and vacations super-carefully. Since a lot of this was pre-internet, we used AAA and Rand-McNally road atlases to compute lodging, mileage and fuel costs. We usually tried to overbudget so that there wouldn’t be any surprises. We bought cheapo package deals to Vegas, went camping, did some 3-day weekends to attend music festivals, ren faires, museum trips, etc. And we still had fun.
Despite my cheapy cheapenheimer tendencies, there have always been a few things I would gladly pay full price for, even back then. Feel free to add your own in the comments, because frankly I haven’t blogged in awhile and my fingers are getting tired.
1. Bras. Oh sweet GirlJesus™ yes. I always would try to find good ones at discount joints like Marshalls first, but it never really bothered me to buy these at regular retail. My brands: Olga, Victoria’s Secret, Le Mystère, Glamorise. Good support makes even inexpensive or poorly-tailored clothes look good.
2. Shoes. Horrid foot problems run in my family. <- Did you see what I just did there? So, I spend $$ on shoes in order to forestall the day when I will be wearing velcroed gastropod orthopedic “comfort oxfords”.
3. Eyeglasses. Because eyeballs are important.
4. Perfume. Because I’m old school like that.
5. Twice-yearly haircut. You can’t fake a really good haircut. I had long hair back then, so I would trim it up and color it myself to keep costs down, but once per semester I’d spring for a professional haircut to prevent me from looking like the Bay City Rollers.
That’s what Dr. Ding gots for ya, as far as surviving this here recession, people. Until next time, I’ll see ya at Wal-Mart, where I’ll be in the underwear aisle pondering the merits of cotton granny panties.
Firing Your Boss
Dearest darlingest Dingers, Dingerites and uh Dinguses.
Dr. Ding has had teh drama lately. As some of you may know, I fired my old employer in May 2008, got a new job and then fired said new employer. In the meantime I applied for a longshot “dream” job back in Denver, got it, and after much consternation turned it down because it didn’t pay what my services are worth. I now have an entirely new job. Seems I’m living the Buddhist blessing-curse of “May you live in interesting times” here lately in regards to work.
This post was inspired by a recent discussion with JJ4TLR here in Houston where she talked about being accountable for one’s gifts and about accepting responsibility for maintaining one’s prosperity. Check out this article for more on that notion.
Back 10 years ago when I was but a fledgling shrinklet, I would undercharge for my services, thinking myself lucky just to have the bidness. Not so anymore. I’m no longer willing to accept anything less than what my services are worth, period. That doesn’t mean I won’t do some pro-bono work or that I won’t occasionally donate my time to provide inservice trainings to agencies with true needs; in fact I do both. But I no longer undercut myself financially due to a continual existential mood of spiritual inadequacy, feeling like “I owe” everyone somehow.
Nor do I suffer fools anymore, gladly or otherwise. If someone can’t communicate in an upfront, timely, and respectful manner with me within the first week of the job, then they’re sure as helly helle not going to be able to do so later on. A work relationship is like any other relationship in that regard, and it’s important to establish mutually beneficial communication patterns and boundaries early on, because they’re only going to worsen with time if left unattended.
I’m getting to the point where I regard not just job interviews but also employment itself as a two-way partnership street: you have the right to terminate me if you see fit, but the same applies for me. If you as my employer aren’t meeting my needs, expectations and plans after I’ve made them abundantly clear, then your ass is politely fired. It’s not quite the same as quitting because it comes from a sense of empowerment. Firing one’s employer feels very different — it feels MUCH better than quitting. Trust.
Today marks the festival of Lugh, Celtic sun god. It’s traditionally a time of celebrating the first harvest, dancing around bonfires, and, strangely, horse-racing. Dr. Ding has never been very good at any sort of organized religion, whether mainstream or pagan or Buddhist, but I like Lughnasadh because a) you don’t have to wear pants* if you don’t want to and b) no one’s going to look at you funny, even if, say, you would happen to comically singe your naked buttcheeks jumping over a bonfire. Sure they’d laugh, but there would be absolutely zero funny looks.
To celebrate my new job (which I forgot to mention) and in honor of the holiday, I’m embarking today upon a marathon of Hulu.com crime drama-watching, diet Pepsi-drinking, and generally reposing on my benefice.
*Some would call this “pantsless” but I prefer the less pejorative term of “pants-free” or even the French “sans britches“. It’s a well-known fact that italicizing makes stuff French.
Dear Dr. Ding
Dear Dr. Ding,
I am about to quit my job or maybe I will just go on a 6 month vacation to Bora Bora start my life over as an impoverished English teacher. I can’t take it anymore! I’m swamped with work, I know I’m clinically depressed and should go back on my meds, and my credit cards are maxed out. And I’m not in very good health at the moment. I don’t know if I need a job change or a career change. I work in a medium-sized (60+staff) human services agency whose funding sources are drying up right left and center. Right now my position is on soft money, which of course means any minute now I could lose my job.
Fuck!
The funny part of this of course is that I don’t even WANT the job I have. I’m middle-management (can you be middle-management in an agency this small?) and it feels like things always roll downhill to me or get kicked upstairs to me. At the end of the 12-hour day I barely have enough energy to walk my dogs.
Crap!
Sorry about the expletives. I’ve worked very hard over the years in my field for very little and I’m exhausted physically and I really don’t think I can take looking for a better or better-paying job right now. I SO don’t want to stay in human services anymore. I feel really stuck, but I also feel too tired to care.
Shit!
I know, I know, I should go to Consumer Credit Counseling and then ask my doctor for some samples of the old antidepressant I used to take, eat vegetables, think positive….I know this. I think maybe my problem is deeper. I was talking with a friend of mine last night, and she was trying to be helpful and suggest job sites I could look at — which annoyed the crap out of me because the thought of even looking at classified ads fills me with dread and of course I know I need to change something, but I don’t feel like doing anything.
Help! Kick my ass!
Sign me: Just Tired
Dear Tired:
Aw honey darlin. Why should I kick your ass when you’re already doing such a great job of it?
Dr. Ding feels your pain. Not so many years ago I worked at a place so exploitative and generally interpersonally freakish that occasionally I would retire to the restroom to sit ‘pon the can and just fucking bawl and snivel. I felt trapped, I felt stuck, yet somehow powerless to change my situation; I couldn’t quit because everyone was depending on me, see — patients, clients, staff, supervisees, supervisors, bosses, pieces of paper that had JCAHO written on them, children in far-off lands. I certainly couldn’t let my unseen audience of others know that I was running myself ragged, working ridiculous hours, being treated rather poorly and hating life. Oh heavens no! Dr. Ding considered herself far too essential to everyone else to take her own needs and wishes into account by changing jobs.
Not so healthy. And a tad egomaniacal. End result: leaving that infernal, soul-shredding hellhole job was one the best decisions I ever made, both personally and professionally. And financially. Oh yeah, and spiritually. Best of all, my perspiration stopped smelling like rotten eggs.
Human services agencies across the board are notorious for not treating their employees too well. It’s part of the biz. Their motto is: “Serve humanity, present staff excluded.” They do important, even vital work, however, and it’s really a great feeling to be a part of that, even if the salary they pay or the hours they demand don’t exactly set your panties ablaze. But it sounds as if the Great Feeling-to-Financial and Emotional Exhaustion Ratio isn’t quite working for you, as you’re burned-out and cranky and tired, Tired.
You know what you need to do, Tired. You’re 100% accurate there; taking care of your health, which includes your neurotransmitters, will go a long way to improving your outlook and decision-making capacities. And although no one likes to go, hat-in-hand, to CCC, it’s a huge relief to get ones finances under control.
But you know all this stuff. The question is, why aren’t you doing it? Why are you sitting in front of the firing line, waiting for the reload? And honey, you’re the one holding the gun.
Dr. Ding has seen a lot of very smart, talented, compassionate, intelligent and professionally competent people, and especially female people, who suck at taking care of themselves. Who forget their own power to take hold of life and ride it. Who shoot themselves in the foot when it comes to asking for what they deserve. Who spend so much time and energy worrying about what everyone else needs/thinks/feels, that they lose sight of what’s best for them, The Big Picture. It seems to especially afflict folks who work in the areas of healthcare, human services, education, and law enforcement; any profession whose very nature requires sacrifice, and it’s the opposite of (more…)
Phucking Unbelievable: Dr. Phil
Dr. Ding is aghast, having read recent and unavoidable accounts of Dr. Phil attempting to minister to one Britney Spears, uninvited and without apparent hospital privileges.
To put this in perspective: imagine if Dr. Ding were to suddenly show up, say, whenever a celebrity were admitted to detoxification/drug & alcohol treatment/psychiatric unit?
“Hello!” I’d say warmly to the good people at the front desk. “I just flew in from H-town, and although I don’t have admitting privileges and am in no way acquainted with any patients here, I’d like to visit Liza With A Z/Lindsey Lohan/that guy who played Chandler on ‘Friends’ please. HIPAA? What’s that? You see, I’m a psychologist, here are copies of my licenses. Am I licensed in this state? Uh, well, no…not exactly. But if you add all the letters together from the states in which I am actually a licensed provider of mental health services, and multiply by the length of a Kabbalah bracelet, and divide by the number of weeks my last book was on the best-seller list, you get a valid California license number, see?” I’d then breeze on up to the fifth floor and stride confidently into Liza/Lindsey/Chandler Bing’s room, and block the doorway, arms akimbo.
“And just where do you think you’re going, Little Ms/Mr. Drunky-pants? I’ve got something to say to you. Get real. Failure is no gravy train. Every day you need to look in the mirror and say ‘I need to be on the Dr. Ding show. And I’m making a good decision here because the outer reflection of my inner gravy train is what makes people treat me like I am wanting to be treated, only with less gravy.’ Let’s get real right now!”
I would then lead my bewildered and alarmed new friend over to the mirror where I would harangue them by droning “I’m doing this because I care, and I care about you, and I’d like it if you cared about you. Only with more gravy,” until they started to relax and stopped trying to press the emergency call button.
Then, despite Liza/Lindsey/Chandler Guy suddenly shoving me aside and sprinting down 5 flights of stairs and out to their car, I’d jog along behind, offering them one last chance to talk on national television about the gravy trainwreck that was just now cured qua my timely psychomological intervention. As they sped off, I’d be calling my media contacts and announcing that I spent over an hour in deep discussion with L/L/C, but that despite my superior clinical abilities and excellent footspeed I was unable to convince them to appear on my show. Which of course proves how very psychologically unbalanced they are.
Reality check: Dr. Ding wouldn’t be able to get past the front desk, even if I was wearing my customary and proper clinical attire of sequined evening gown, sunglasses, and curlers.
I cannot imagine what Dr. Phil was thinking. He must not have read his APA Ethical Principles of Psychologists and Code of Conduct.
Principle A: First do no harm.
Dr. Ding’s Corollary: Showing up unannounced and uninvited is just so wrong, and a clear violation of Ms Spear’s rights as a patient. Shame on that hospital for letting him in. Unless it’s a pretty goddamn clear-cut emergency, psychologists don’t treat or assess anyone unless a) there is informed consent, and b) the individual in question your own fucking patient in the first place! I mean, duh.
Principle #5.06: APA is crystal-clear on this next part, regarding In-Person Solicitation. “Psychologists do not engage, directly or through agents, in uninvited in-person solicitation of business from actual or potential therapy clients/patients or other persons who because of their particular circumstances are vulnerable to undue influence. However, this prohibition does not preclude (1) attempting to implement appropriate collateral contacts for the purpose of benefiting an already engaged therapy client/patient or (2) providing disaster or community outreach services.”
Dr. Ding’s Corollary: Dr. Phil is a publicity-hungry douchebag who would whore out his own grandmother’s psychological vulnerabilities in a heartbeat, so long as the price was right.
Yeah, that’s right. I said douchebag. I mean, let’s get real here.
5 Travel Tips: My Ovaries Flew Coach: A Personal Odyssey*
Some folks can’t travel worth a hoot. Dr. Ding has observed them, standing smack-dab in the center of a busy airport thoroughfare, staring glassy-eyed and tight-pantsed at the monitors, looking miserable and laden down with excess luggage.
So to avoid this kind of travel buzzkill, read onward.
1. Travel light. The rule is: twice as much money and half the clothes. Trust. But be sure to pack 1 or 2 pair of dark, wicking/washable undies. I like Ex Officio. And make sure you wear comfortable slacks or sweats on days when you’re sitting lots. This prevents the dreaded crotchal region circulatory cutoff from ruining your courageous journey.
2. Forget all that crap about drinking lots of water ahead of time and packing your own snacks. Half the fun of travelling is buying Hoochie Hairstyle magazines and eating overpriced ham sandwiches, thereby saving you valuable pre-trip time to get a massage or find a cure for simple chronic halitosis.
3. Talk to the locals. Dr. Ding never would have learned to say “Ma’am you’ve irreparably hurt my feelings, now get out of my cab” in the Mayan language if she hadn’t attempted to communicate in her broken, profanity-laced Spanish while cabbing it along the Mexican Riviera. Or found out about the least-touristy beaches selling the best Cuban cigars and the cheapest cocktails.
4. Plug yourself into an iPod or MP3 player. Get the noise-blocking headphones. Calms anxiety, dampens engine noise, drowns out the person next to you droning on about needlepointing pies onto kittens or whatever at the PTA meeting funcheon.
5. Accept in your heart that magnets make the best souvenir gifts. They’re light and can be stowed easily in the odd suitcase pocket. Just don’t store them next to any electronic stuff, or you’ll give yourself the jimmy leg. Dr. Ding is partial to the kind of glittery, bejeweled magnets suitable for any drag queen dressing-room refrigerator.
Happy travels, Ding-a-Lings!
[Ed. note: That's Irish D.Q. Danny LaRue up above. I know it looks like me, but it's not.]
GIVE
Hey Dingstereenos!
It feels good to give. Not until you’re broke, burned-out, wildly annoyed, agitated, or a lil bit psychotic…but giving just feels like a good thing to do. Acts of altruism can help enhance feelings of personal accomplishment and self-efficacy, which is a fancy way of saying that when you give, you really feel like you’ve done something more meaningful than, say, tipping your leg waxer.
Two of my favorite charitable organizations are the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer, and the Texas Marine Mammal Stranding Network. Oh, and then there are the inimitable Save 2nd Base and Save Second Base charities, who have truly witty t-shirts.
I walked, gasped, limped, and bitched my way through the Chicago Walk last year and I’m doing it again this year in Houston in April. There will probably be a higher bitching-to-walking ratio as the humidity is likely to be significantly irritating to my delicate constitution. But walk I shall. This year Dr. Ding is going to raise $3,600 to help fund medically underserved men and women with the disease by attempting to trudge 39 miserable goddamned concrete miles over the course of 2 days*. There will also be urban camping, of which I am not fond, but last year I was so exhaustedly close to total moral collapse that I just didn’t fucking care where I slept.
Won’t you please allow me to blackmail you into donating? Send me an email and I’ll send you the link to my Avon Walk homepage. Once there, feel free to empty your pockets. Aah. Now don’t you feel peachy?
The TMMSN is a pretty cool organization. And better still, it involves very little straining, grunting and cursing on my part. I give money each year and buy a shitload of t-shirts and festive plastic bracelets so that various unfortunate dolphins that wash up on the Gulf shores can be rehabbed, poked, prodded and pretty much pissed-off back into health. I fucking LOVE dolphins. They’re smart, they’re adorable, and their sonar-like communications may actually (more…)
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