About Me

Writer. Survivor. Professional Ghostee.

I’ve applied to over 300 jobs, been rejected by 298, ghosted by the other two, and somehow still have the audacity to keep turning it all into comedy. That’s either resilience, caffeine poisoning, or both. Honestly, I’m not sure anymore.

Most of my free time goes into rewriting my résumé for the 47th time, then reorganizing my “applied” folder into increasingly unhinged categories like Maybe Someday, Definitely Ghosted, and Job I Only Applied To Out of Panic Because It Was 2 A.M. And when I’m not doing that? I’m running Interview Games—a brutally honest, chaotically funny, mildly unstable series about what it really feels like to job hunt in today’s world.

My energy source is oat milk, recruiter rejection emails that read like bad breakups, passive-aggressive follow-up messages that somehow make me feel like the guilty party, and blind optimism that borders on delusion. I’ve spent more hours writing cover letters than actually working jobs. I’ve smiled my way through Zoom interviews while silently calculating how much rent I could cover by selling a kidney. I’ve nodded politely when someone explained “culture fit,” even though we both knew that was code for “we’re hiring the CEO’s nephew.” And I’ve gotten very comfortable with the cold, gray silence that follows when a recruiter chirps, “We’ll be in touch.”

Luckily, I don’t spiral alone.

Enter Brad. Brad’s a mouse. But not just any mouse—he’s my CFO (Chief Feelings Officer), my unpaid intern, my brand mascot, and the only one in this house who hasn’t panic-applied to a logistics job in Nebraska just for the adrenaline hit of clicking “Submit.” Brad drinks more lattes than I do, has better instincts, and somehow manages to look composed while I’m stress-eating week-old muffins over another rejection. He is everything I aspire to be: calm, caffeinated, and unbothered.

Together, Brad and I built Interview Games not as a brand, but as a lifeboat. A place for people who are exhausted by job-search jargon, endless portals that ask you to upload your résumé and then re-type the exact same information, and those soul-crushing rejection emails that start with “We were impressed by your qualifications” but end with “we’ve gone in another direction.”

We’re here to laugh at it all, cry-laugh with you, and remind you that your worth is not tied to whether or not you survived round four of a hiring process that demanded a slide deck, a video audition, and possibly a DNA test. If job hunting feels like a dystopian escape room designed by robots and ghosts—you’ve found your people.

Welcome. You’re home. Brad saved you a latte.

(We’ve seen things. Weird things.)

Our experience doesn’t come from Ivy League degrees, executive retreats, or those TED Talks where the guy draws triangles on a whiteboard and calls it leadership. No. Ours comes from the trenches of the job market—the place where résumés go to die, cover letters go unread, and job postings are recycled every three months like haunted real estate listings.

We’ve survived interviews that felt less like “tell me about yourself” and more like “blink twice if you’re being held hostage.” We’ve endured onboarding processes so long that by the time we finished training, the company had already pivoted three times and laid off the trainer. We’ve sat in panel interviews where half the cameras were off, the other half were eating lunch, and one guy definitely muted himself just to scream into a pillow.

We’ve been sold “amazing culture” and got Slack messages at 9:02 p.m. about synergy. We’ve prepped for hours only to hear, “We went with an internal candidate,” which is corporate code for “This was rigged from the start, but thanks for your PowerPoint.” We’ve met every kind of hiring manager: the one who clearly forgot we existed, the one who thought a Sudoku puzzle was a fair assessment of Excel skills, and of course, Karen—the HR rep who says, “We’ll be in touch,” with the same energy you use when telling a date, “Yeah, let’s totally hang out again sometime.”

And through all of it, we did what any emotionally caffeinated, slightly feral adult would do:
We turned it into content.

Our experience is lived, raw, and painfully funny. We’ve been unemployed, underemployed, misemployed, and dramatically over-interviewed. We’ve ugly cried on Zoom, cracked jokes during layoffs, and posted memes from rock bottom. Because when the professional world feels like a rigged game where nobody gave you the instructions—sometimes the only winning move is to roast it until it becomes relatable.

So no, we’re not “industry veterans.” We’re not “thought leaders.” We’re battle-tested job seekers with trauma, talent, and a mouse named Brad who somehow still believes in us. And honestly? That might just be more valuable.