A Woman's Work is Never Done...

I would like to begin this blog post with three apologies, two disclaimers, and one confession. First, I am sorry (to the three people who read this) for not writing for so long. Each time I began a post, I fell asleep. It just  may be the onset of narcolepsy, but the doctors can't be sure. They said it's either that or high cholesterol. Second, I am sorry for always talking about my gastrointestinal issues throughout this blog since the dawn of time. At least my blog will not be debated on CNN as embellished or fraudulent a la Mortenson. And third, I am writing this entry at 1am -- a) you will see many misspelled words and horrific grammar b) i may just be a little too sarcastic given the hour and c) I'm sorry dewey and ty-face...you WILL have to deal with me on the 'morrow. Next, I just want to say that anything I write tonight in no way reflects my true feelings normally held during the day time, for what I think at night may be the raw truth, but it does not always demonstrate appropriate truth -- if such a thing exists. Second if you choose never to read my blog again, this disclaimer serves as my liability protection should a lawsuit ever be taken up. And finally, my confession is that I am in a lot of womanly pain right now, so should a curse word slip, it's with all the justification in the world. Amen and God bless. Ding ding.

So, to take you away from myself, I want to focus on my work -- and, of course, MYSELF at work! I am a Trafficking Case Manager. Yes, the name itself suggests I manage a human trafficking ring in close conjunction with the Mexican drug cartel. Unfortunately, there are no drugs involved save it be the fake beach sand/dust sitting on my desk in a mock beach scene, appearing to have the ability to be sniffed should the need ever arise. I have yet to be desperate enough, but never say never. Can I just say I love my job? I come home EXAUSTED, but it's only because people got help that day. Sure, weird things happen. After all, "I'm weird!" And sure, smells happen, and naked people in the bathroom, and random bursts of curse words in a foreign language. Sure it's the Tower of Babel in the flesh. But you know what? There is never a dull moment as a Trafficking Case Manager (drugs not included). Let me tell you just why I am so enamored.

(Not in any order of significance -- heaven's no)

1. I get to periodically visit the two most forlorn places in the state of Utah, and quite possibly in the world -- Delta and Beaver Utah. Welcome to the hairy armpit of Earth. I traveled a total of 5 1/2 hours in the car the other day, and the most excitement I had in my travels did not involve anything inappropriate or dangerous, or even cows! I drove by Beaver High School, and their sign declared bright and blue: "Home of Champions." My heart swelled with pride. I am a Beaver Believer. In Beaver, though, I spent 1 1/2 hours with a client from Thailand, speaking through a translator on my cell phone. Now if that isn't a standing ovation to technology, I don't know what is. And can I get a whoop whoop for the flashlight app on my cell phone? Man life is good.

2. I get to answer phone calls and not know what the H-E-double hockey sticks the other person is saying. The other day one of my Thai clients called and started talking to me in Thai. I told him I didn't understand, but he kept talking to me in Thai. Pretty soon I had resorted to only making pensive noises as I figured out what to do, "Hmmmmm...." "Ummmmmmmm" and then I finally just started laughing. When I came to my senses I jumped on Google Translate and quickly typed in something to translate to Thai. Unfortunately, when I hit the button, what appeared before me was complete rubbish leaving my mouth, leaving both the client and myself just that much more on the same page.

3. I get to practice my Spanish with my Spanish-speaking clients, and sometimes they remind me that I often speak like crap. Just yesterday I helped a woman from Cuba and I asked her, "Are you paying for any muletas?" She looked at me blankly. "Muletas," I repeated, gesturing with my hands as if she should know what I was talking about. I wanted to say "police ticket" or "multa." Instead I was asking the perfectly healthy woman if she was paying for her crutches. And then sitting next to me, the Ethiopian case worker is cracking me up, saying, "Como e---stas."

4. The halls sometimes smell so bad, and the building is not air conditioning, perpetuating the intensity of the odor caused by people from a melting pot of cultures who cook at home and bring the lingering aroma of every food imaginable to the office. My office is one of the few sanctuaries, thanks to Bath and Body Works lotion frequently applied, even when moisture is already seeping out of my skin. It's all for the smell. Besides, trafficking clients don't smell, because they are MY clients, and they are perfect.

5. I love hearing down the hall the group renditions of English words as the ESL classes repeat in unison, "Hello. My name is lasjdflaskdjf;lsadkfj" ---as everyone says their name at once. Sometimes I am startled while absorbed in my computer work. My first inclination is to run away from the cult and warn the others not to drink the Kool-Aid. But then I gain my bearings and continue my drug trading with my cartel buddies.

6. Our fridge has the strangest food in it. I'm curious as to what 79% of it is. One day I shall seek enlightenment from those wiser than myself.

7. The month of June is Refugee Month! That's much better than the Administrative Assistant day I had at my old job. What did I get then? Not even a pat on the back. Administrative Assistant is just another word for underpaid, unrecognized slave labor. And that's the federal definition.

8. I get to take people shopping at Walmart when I don't speak their language and do lots of pointing. It's quite the aerobic workout and it does wonders for my flabby triceps. I just wish the people in the store wouldn't stare so much when I try to act out that they need to buy toilet paper. Come on! It's a universal sign!

9. I'm great friends and coworkers with people from the following countries: Burma, Sudan, Somalia, Ethiopia, Rwanda, the DR Congo, Armenia, Iran, Mexico, Russia, and Massachusetts. And I speak fluently to every one in their native tongue. It's tough, but someone's gotta do it.

10. And one last reason I love my job so much is that every time I check off something on the "To-do" list, it means that someone was successfully helped with something. And that's a good feeling, knowing that the sore back, bummed knee from falling on the stairs, pounding headache, smelly armpits from sweating so much, and smelly feet for forgetting to line my smelly shoes aren't all for nothing and really matter in the big, great world.

Well, my eyes are drooping, and I'm just proud of myself for having written this much. I'll try to write more frequently so my epistles aren't ever considered for inductions into the Library of Congress' "boring and unnecessarily long official records" section.


Amen to all of the above and Happy Holidays.

The Hate Edition

It was August 2005 and we were driving through Provo Canyon, my grandma, mom, Bryce and I admiring the beauty of what was now to be my home. It was a little on the brown side, but whatev. It was our second day in Provo following a long 15 hour drive from Oregon, and little Bryce was but a mere lad at almost four years old. It's safe to say that a four year old can only take so much of riding in a car. As we passed by the serene cascades of Bridal Vail Falls, and the towering mountain landscapes, my little brother, frustrated and fed up with life and the world, began his hate edition: "I hate this car! I hate  Utah! I hate this shirt! I hate driving! I hate seatbelts! I hate..." and the list went on as his face got progressively redder. Finally, in one final jab at the world, mustering up all the gumption he could, he yelled, "AND I EVEN HATE THE CHRISTMAS TREE!" It was August. His hatred ran just that deep. I will never forget this revealing episode, and to this day, use his concluding and finalizing phrase to describe my own feelings of hatred towards life.

With that said, you should know that today was such a Christmas Tree Day, and while I fully promote peace, love, and compassion, sometimes it just feels good to HATE. So to indulge myself just a little, in attempts to  feel better at 12:30 am, here is my very own Hate Edition.

I hate...

car windows that break during a rainstorm. cracked windshields. gas prices. clients who go to the wrong up-chuck-a-rama. bollywood. leaving hummus at work and being forced to eat an apple for dinner. being poor. tuition prices. messy rooms. dirty dishes. bike locks that don't work. watching my bank account dwindle. feeling out of shape. accutane. wax strips. missing friends. fakeness. folding laundry. dirty sheets. hairy legs. smelly feet. skin falling off of my face. being given more than 20 hours of work in a 20 hour work week. human trafficking. running out of cereal when my car is in the shop and my bike lock won't open. being tired. pressure. finding a place to live in the fall. rain in may. slow drivers. bored cops. road construction. pot holes. feeling discontent. hair in the shower after someone shaves. toothpaste on the outside of the tube. strained Achilles tendon. buying hummus that tastes like grass. wishing i could smoke grass. just kidding. missing my family. not being able to read very well. having to wait so long to get my glasses. watching my laptop die a slow and painful death. craving curry but not giving into the temptation. dreaming of far off places and not being able to go right now. long lines in the "speedy checkout". student loans. poop times three....and I EVEN HATE THE CHRISTMAS TREE!

There. Now that I have vented of a handful of the hated things in my life right now, I feel somewhat more loving and giving and kind. Happy holidays, everyone. Happy holidays.

Rise and Shout

Rise and Shout, Jessica is out,
of her undergraduate career.
She can't believe it's come to an end,
Has it really been six years?

No, six years does not mean I'm stupid,
It merely means that I'm slow.
I was off doing who knows what for 18 months,
Eating cow stomach and blood. Soooooo....

But the time finally came,
After years of stress, grief and strife.
To say goodbye to Cosmo,
And begin a future, oh so bright (I need shadesssssssssss).


As I burst out of the testing center,
the darkness that had enshrouded me for so long,
(The hives, the tears, the bagels, and the swears),
evaporated like milk, making me want to sing this song:

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard,
And they're like
It's better than yours,
Dam* right it's better than yours,
I can teach you,
But I have to charge"

If my mom were to ask about the song,
I'd simply provide her this interpretation:
"I have gained all of this secular wisdom,
And now I can tutor others" - EXCLAMATION!

The world will be a better place,
Because BYU taught me to shake.
I shook off that stupid B in New Testament,
And I shook my head when SPSS would break.

I shook it at the stake dance,
But then shook my fist when he got too close.
I shook my foot after walking up all those stairs,
And I shook my head at the sleepers in the bathroom -- Gross.

I can still see the images of sweaters, lipstick, Habermaus, and Robbie,
They will forever be ingrained in my heart.
And let's not forget graduation day itself,
When B, from three seats over, let a huge -- she's so smart!

I will miss BYU and the bubble it gave me.
I will miss the L&T wraps.
I will the editorials in the Daily Universe,
I will even miss Cecil - such a fine chap!

I will miss many lives lost in the Soc Lab,
I will miss many explosions from the vending machine hot pocket.
I will miss lighting creamer on fire,
And watching oil explode like a rocket (in my kitchen).

I will miss walking to class in the rain,
The wind always blowing at an angle.
I will miss meeting new and interesting people,
Many of whom I wanted to strangle.

I will miss the protests of three people,
I will miss the mullets trying to be cool.
I will miss the tights that are like pants,
I will miss a place where dating rules.

I will miss ward prayer and break the fast,
I will miss intermural sports.
I will miss testimony meetings where people line up,
I will miss when activities are planned to "court."

I will miss my roommates, whom I love so much.
I will miss our bad words and jokes.
I will miss our prayers of laughter and poop.
I will miss the random pinches and pokes.

I will miss everyone whom I've ever met,
Including the weird and the strange.
Life at BYU was never dull!
And no, it shall never be the same.

Boston boasts a grand repertoire
Of things to do and people to see.
But I could go on for days on end.
But I won't, for I have to pee.

So long BYU, may you rise and shout,
Always a standard to the nations.
When Jimmer gets drafted to the Utah Jazz,
I'll remember my college convocation.

Amen and halleluluha,
May all your dreams come true.
And may you always have a spot in your heart,
For WHITE, SILVER, GOLD and BLUE.