Things I'm thankful for, an evening with Kim Jong Il

Oh herrrrrrrrow there!

I'm fairly certain this is the first JV blog to ever start with a photo of Kim Jong Il (albeit in puppet form, but still). And if it isn't the first JV blog to start this way, I'll be shocked and a little scared, but will nonetheless retract my claim at trying to do something original. But don't worry, Kim Jong Il means no harm, but only wants to welcome you back to my blog, after a month missing from action (again). He, and Alec Baldwin, would like to warmly welcome you back.



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Thanks, Kim.

It's hard to imagine after an introduction from Kim, that I would actually have something serious I wanted to say. But alas, this is truly the case. And it's not because I'm having an emotional PMS episode or even because I'm making a sloppy drunk "I love you" proclamation. I promise everything after this line is a sincere reflection of my truest (sober) heart.

In JVC, we live without objects which many people take for granted on a daily basis. Soda. Clothes. Cars. Money. A bed that doesn't cause my joints to stiffen in the night. Cable TV (although we have recovered NBC, thank the lord).

Sure, it gets frustrating sometimes, especially when you attempt to Christmas shop on a budget and the cashier at Michael's rings you up at $102 in one pop -- which is, to be sure, exactly 102 percent of our monthly budget. You wish you could have some of the finer things back. But at the end of the day, none of that superficial stuff matters much. You find a way to make do. You opt for handmade gifts instead of new DVDs or BluRays.

Basically, I've learned to fill the void. But there's one void that will never be filled. What I've come to realize is that I don't really miss most of the stuff we don't have access to. Clothes: too much too wash. Cars: expensive. Cable TV: overrated. A bed and money-- okay, I really miss these things; I'll be honest.

But what I really miss are the people. I've come to realize that I've been incredibly lucky in my life to be surrounded with the world's most incredible and caring people. I've had a family that put my education above everything else. I've had friends who have been there at the drop of the hat.

With Thanksgiving already past, I realize that I'm about a month late with this list. But I would like to take a chance to thank those in my life who have always been there for me and who mean the world to me. It's about damn time that I told ya.

In no particular order:

1. Parents
First and foremost, I am so thankful for my parents. Over the last few weeks, I've seen many great and many not-so-great parents walk in and out of my office. What I've noticed is that the best parents are the ones who actually (*surprise*) pay attention to their children and put their children's needs above their own. They're the ones who walk into my office with holes in their jackets, but then I look down and see that the kids are running around in a new pair of sneakers. Those are my parents. I've never received flowers or candy at work from a boy... but I can now say that I've gotten them from my mom. And I'm not embarrassed at all to admit it. It was enough for me to know that my mom was thinking about me and excited for me to come home (probably almost as much as I am excited to come home). It's nice to know that when I call crying at 10 p.m. (true story), I can always have somebody on the other end tell me, "It'll be better tomorrow."
2. Ryan
I'm going to take a page out of Chick Flick romance and thank Ryan, simply for putting up with all my crap each and every day. I know he gets the brunt of my frustration, but no matter how many times I push him away, he never seems to budge. When I've given up on work, Phoenix or, god forbid, on us -- somehow he's already standing in the ring waiting for the next round. I've found someone that understands the way my mind works better than I can understand it myself -- sometimes to my great frustration and even greater jealousy. I'm so lucky to have found someone who I know isn't going anywhere. I've learned from my clients that love and family isn't easy and there are many, many kinds of "bad" relationships. And I count myself lucky to be in one that I know is a "good" relationship. I know I've found someone who won't walk out when it gets difficult and I'm glad that I'm along for the ride.
3. Heyyyyy brother
My brother -- for actually understanding the words that are coming out of my mouth, when everybody else looks at me and wonders, "Huh?" I know this is going to sound strange, but Troy reminds me to have fun and to not bother caring what other people think along the way. I don't know anybody who is a truer version of himself than my brother. I can still remember him dressing me up in a Star Trek uniform when I was 3-years-old and plopping me down on a chair while he directed me on the family video camera, shaking the camera to make it look as if we were under attack and I was falling out of the captain's chair, as the ship fell apart around us. My brother is who he is and everybody else be damned if they don't like it. Thanks for being my role model and teaching me to be myself -- and for turning me into a mini boy with estrogen.
4. IDK, my BFF Becky?
I feel as if I don't even have to write anything in this space because she probably knows exactly what I'm thinking and would be able to write it ten times better than I ever could. I love you, Chewy. You and that fake brain tumor you got rolling around in there.
5. TSC.
That's right, Aly-saw, Kav, Rati, Sam, Kurtis, Woody, Ian, Pinky (and maybe even Erkel... a little). I've never had a group of friends that I considered to be a family, until I randomly got paired with you guys in the hell hole that was that newspaper room. It's true -- we've got issues. Thanks to Facebook, I stumbled upon some of the pictures from the newspaper conference and from our many TSC party adventures. I nearly keeled over laughing, not so much from the photos themselves, but from the novel-length discussions we had in the comments below them. I realized just how lucky I was to have been able to spend and an entire school year with ya. We spent so many long hours together and I wouldn't trade any one of them in for anything. I love you guys and miss you so much. I will gladly host a TSC(4?) party at my house. Kurt, you're 21 now. Time for you to taste alcohol.
6. To my Franktown Family, Mrs. White, Mrs. Lawrence... and I'm also going to include the Suhr family among those ranks.
Thank you for taking care of me even when I'm not at home. I cannot begin to describe how much it means to me when I open up my mail and see a cute little card or an epic care package that has been artfully decorated by a 5-year-old. Thanks for bringing a little bit of home to Phoenix. And Mrs. Lawrence, thanks for giving me a home here in Phoenix -- for hosting dinner, and for sending me home with the greatest Christmas goodies known to stomachs everywhere. I've hung each and every card or note I've received over my bed -- each is a constant reminder that I am surrounded with the best friends and family imaginable.
7. Benj and Gwen.
Thanks for not thinking I'm crazy for wanting to move to Arizona. I get so excited every time I see a card in the mail with your handwriting. And the care package you sent was enough to make all of my housemates want to thank you as well. At this point, I think all my housemates would call you their favorite aunts. I love receiving your cards; they too are hanging above my bed. I just cannot believe how lucky I am.
8. Casa Truth and Casa Bart.
I'm not going to write anything here. Fill it in yourselves, you jerks (who I love).
9. My clients.
Over the last few months, I've been exposed to people from all walks of life, some of them whom I understand, others who will continue to confuse me until the day I leave. I'm so grateful for each and every person who has walked into my office. And I can honestly say that I've learned something from each and every one of them. Talking to Ryan on the phone last night, I realized that they have opened my eyes to so many different realities -- many of which I would have considered weird or crazy in the past. But now just seem normal. To my clients, that's for making crazy the new normal and for continuing to have hope.
10. To everybody else who has supported me over the last few weeks, both back at home in Colorado and California, as well as here in Phoenix.
I've come to realize that despite being without many things this year, I have one thing that most of my clients do not have. It isn't anything tangible -- it isn't a house; it isn't a job. Instead it's the undying love of a strong support system. When my clients enter the shelter, they all share one thing in common: they have nowhere else to go. They come to our doorstep because they have no other support — often because friends and family simply turned their backs when they needed them the most. It’s when homeless families tell me these heartbreaking stories that I become grateful for what I have: 4 great housemates who give me strength when I’m feeling most depressed; and loving family and friends who I know would never desert me when I most needed them.While they are simple sentiments, when I receive those quick notes, cards, care packages or phone calls from a friend of family member, it's enough to remind me that the greatest gift we have is each other. And I am blessed to know each and every one of you.

Thank you for everything.

Business as usual

Yes, I realize how long it's been since my last post. No, I'm not convinced anybody is still reading this. And I'd like to stay a lot has happened since then -- and in many ways, there has been a lot. In other ways, well, not so much.

In the past few weeks, my parents have come to visit and we had a stellar outing at a wonderful place called TexAZ. And yes, it is exactly how it sounds. I've taken a brief retreat to San Jose/Santa Clara and pretended to be a normal person for a weekend. I've taken (with all of Phoenix JVs) a roadtrip to San Diego to pretend to be Greg for a Halloween... which... didn't turn out so well.

In many ways, we've pretty much gotten into a Phoenix groove these days. At work, I am holding a 100% case load -- meaning I have at least 10 families who are my clients specifically. Sometimes I have more than 10, which makes days REALLY interesting and REALLY busy. A major highlight was being able to get my first family into a transitional housing program. Basically, they were my first "real success story." And the day they moved into their new apartment, they stopped by in my office to thank me for the work I did for them. The day before that, another family moved into their own new apartment. While she wasn't my client specifically, she came in to thank all of the case managers. She was crying... which of course made all of the rest of cry. Those two families were a great reminder of why I signed on for the year.

Other than that, it's been business as usual.

What EXACTLY is "business as usual?" you might ask

Good question! I'm glad you asked.

There was a pretty great article published in The Arizona Republic last week about Central Arizona Shelter Service (CASS) -- aka our company. The article mostly focuses on the 5th anniversary of the Human Service Campus, which is where the downtown CASS shelter is located for single men and women. Vista Colina is not a part of that campus. We're located much further north, but we are still run under the umbrella of CASS. The "Suddenly Homeless" section is about the Vista Colina shelter. It outlines the story of Adrienne Mones, one of our clients.

And I'm going to FORCE you to read it now. No, seriously. Read it now. The rest of this blog post will not make sense unless you read the news story. As many Santa Clara professors would say, just to make sure you've done the reading, I'm going to give you a quiz afterward.

Okay, not really. But I repeat, YOU HAVE to read the article.

Crowded Maricopa County shelter a last refuge for homeless -- Arizona Republic, Nov. 5, 2010

YOU CANNOT READ THE REST OF THIS BLOG UNTIL YOU READ THE NEWS ARTICLE!!!

Really, I'm not lying.

Are you reading it yet?!?!

Just for good measure, I'm posting the article link again:

Crowded Maricopa County shelter a last refuge for homeless

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Okay, I warned you. If you didn't read the article, you're ruining the ending -- and if you didn't read the article after all those multiple warnings, I'm assuming that you're one of those people who reads the last chapter of a book before the first. And let's face it, if you're one of those people, there just isn't any hope for you.

I'm giving you one last chance. Read the article. It's now or never.

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Alright. Since you've read the article, I'm going to go ahead and add to the story.

So remember Adrienne? The article mentions that she's working at a massage therapist; saving her money; and working towards paying off a hefty sum of traffic fines for driving without a license. It also mentioned that she is working towards getting a valid license. What the artice doesn't mention is that Adrienne, who was unable to drive and didn't have a car, was getting a ride to work from her boyfriend, who DID had a car.

Through a freak string of events, he lost that car earlier this week.

As a result, both Adrienne and her boyfriend came into my office upset on Tuesday morning because they did not know how either one of them would be able to keep getting to work. I gave them a bus pass that was good for the day, but it obviously wouldn't sustain them. They left my office a little brightened because they had found a temporary solution, but they were still disheartened because they didn't know what would happen in the long rung -- especially because they were able to get jobs and get back on their feet already.

Then fate stepped in.

Turns out a business woman was also having car issues Monday, although of a different nature. Her Toyota was making a funny sound while it ran, so she took it in to the dealer. In typical repairman fashion, he told her the part that was causing the loud racket was not the only part that needed to be replaced; other parts had to be taken care of as well. The dealer gave her an estimate of $1500 in order to fix the problem. He also told her that the funny sound wasn't an indication that there was something majorly wrong with the car. It still ran well. However, like all salesmen, he was somehow able to persuade her into buying an entirely new car because they were having "such a great sale." So she traded in her old car for a $1500 credit on her new Prius.

Maybe it was buyer's remorse -- or maybe it was something else-- but she tossed and turned all night long.

She decided that her $1500 could have gone to much better use.

She had done some volunteering at homeless shelters before in the past. And she also remembered reading a story in the newspaper last week about a homeless mom who didn't have any transportation because of a suspended license.

She returned to the car dealership, picked up her old car and added $1500 to her car bill. Then, she dug up the article, Adrienne's name, and called the shelter.

2 hours later, the car was sitting in the parking lot outside the shelter, and the keys were being placed in Adrienne's hands.

Now Adrienne, who is still working and has applied for a transitional housing program and is just waiting to hear back, has a car ready and waiting for her. She's still paying off the last of her fines and it's given her even greater motivation to get her driver's license validated.

Sitting on the bottom step just inside the front desk of the shelter, Adrienne told us today how she felt about the car.

"A few days ago, I wrote down on a piece of paper that I wanted a 4-door car that ran well for me and my kids. Now it's sitting outside my window," she said. "I'm so grateful for everything. If I wouldn't have come here, none of this would have ever happened."

And THAT is business as usual.

I can see clearly now

The only real headline breaking news (no, for reals) in the last few days has been the crazy storms that hit Phoenix last week. Really, SB1070 hasn't been mentioned once, but this storm has made national headlines.

While I could try to describe it, it's probably just better if I let the pictures speak for themselves. Don't worry, nobody was hurt and (knock on wood), neither was the structural integrity of Casa Truth. But the storms did cause some major power outages, accidents, and  transportation problems. The storms, conveniently, hit the Phoenix area about 5 p.m., just as everybody was getting off from work and making their way home. Casa Bart's Ga-Ga-Gosney got caught riding her bike in the middle of the hail and Katie got stuck waiting for a bus for 2 hours in the rain. The good news is that me and Becky did NOT get caught up for 2 hours after work. Only 30 minutes after missing the bus without a jacket or umbrella, which was still more than enough for me. Anyways, here's the documentation. (** Notice: I stole most of these photos from housemates. I take no credit for them... except for the prettiest ones.)

1. The Pregame Before The Storm: The previous day's rainstorm before THE Rainstorm.

The light rail stop (My photo)

The rainbow that was way too damn happy 

and should have been a clue that the next day was gonna suck (My photo)

2. What our house normally looks like (okay... maybe not what it should look like, but BACK OFF!)

The back porch (Photo by Krystle)

3. The aftermath

The street and what used to be our front yard (Photo by Greg)

Also the reason why Greg could not get his car down the driveway

The sludge of our backyard (Photo by Greg)

Our addition of an outdoor pool (Photo by Greg)

Arizona's snow at work (My photo)

The hail broke several lights at the shelter

So there it is. Can't say that I have anything else that is worthy of reporting -- unless you consider a father who wants to pay for his firearms instead of paying for an apartment for his daughters as "worthy of reporting." Or a husband who is leaving his pregnant wife and two kids "worthy of reporting." I'd have to say that I don't. Call me crazy.

Oh, and I've gotten 3 pretty kickass care packages. Thanks Mom, Troy and Edie!

Feminism gets cooked

The last few weeks have done a lot to turn my ideals on their head. 

I've seen a lot of the homelessness system. I've learned what it's like to live with next to no money. I've learned that there is such a thing as unspoken telephone manners, and many of our callers are not skilled in the art... And I'm becoming more and more convinced with each passing day, that I may never want to have any kids (Sorry, Mom). 

More than anything, I think my feminist mentality has received a sudden shake at its core (And no, before you say it, feminists are NOT men haters... for the last time). Don't get me wrong, I still believe in equal rights for sexes, the root of feminist thought. And I still believe that women are just as capable as the opposite sex, both inside and outside of the household. I'm still not looking forward to my wedding day with all it's patriarchal undertones. I'll gladly burn bras and all that jazz. In other words, all of my feminist professors would still be proud, no matter what age of feminism they would classify themselves in. So then exactly how has my feminist mentality been shaken?

It's the food.

I'm serious. It's the food. Or maybe I should be a little bit more clear by saying that it's the COOKING.

It's no secret that I've never been gifted in the kitchen. Well, that's sugarcoating the truth. 

Let me paint this picture for you. In my past attempts at cooking, I've burned basically every food possible -- even those that aren't capable of burning. As my freshman year roommate can attest to, I developed a particular fondness for burnt foods, probably because it was all that I was capable of making. More impressive is that I've burned myself just as much.

Nope, I am not good at cooking. So I gave up on cooking. I called it quits.

Because I knew I wasn't good at cooking, I used it as a crutch to further support my feminist thoughts. "Women belong in the workplace, not at home in front of the stove," I thought. I wasn't good at cooking, but I didn't like the idea of it anyways, so who cares? 

Therefore, my inability to cook anything edible lent itself well to my simplistic line of thinking. My lack of cooking skill was a sign that I belonged in a setting outside of the home. "I can't cook," I thought, "and I really shouldn't anyways in order to establish my identity as separate from and outside of the household."I wanted to be that woman who brought home the bacon, instead of flipping it in a frying pan in front of the stove every morning. Basically my line of thought was, "I can't cook. Good for me. I'll do something less housewife-y instead." Sucking at cooking was just proof that I was a good feminist. 

Yep, that's exactly how I thought. Down to the "housewife-y" adjective. Pretty simplistic and stupid, right? I'm an idiot and I am now aware of this.

Anyway, I was not excited to have to take up cooking again on a weekly basis as part of JVC. I feared for my own safety (no more burns, please) and for the safety of my housemates. Mostly because I didn't want to poison them (well, at least not yet...).

So it was with fear that I made my first dish. Naturally, it was a pasta, the only thing I actually know how to cook. The good news is that I didn't burn it. The bad news is that it wasn't particularly great either -- and I spent too much money on store brand pasta sauce because I didn't know how to make my own (particular members of my casa were NOT happy with me).

With a less-than-successful first outing, I wasn't thrilled about attempt number two, particularly since I would be trying out a new dish, which I hadn't cooked before. 

Fried rice.

I know, I know. It's fried rice, right? How hard could it be? But believe me, if there's a way to mess up fried rice, I would be the person to do it. 

I approached the stove with apprehension and determination, spatula in hand. "Alright stove, let's dance." (Oh lord, now I'm talking to household appliances?) I was determined to make something that was not only a) edible, but also b) low cost.

I followed a recipe that I found online, which included fresh vegetables, soy sauce, oyster sauce, and eggs. I followed the recipe closely and was surprised to find that I was able to carry it out every step. 


Without burning myself.

Most surprising was when we sat down to eat, it was actually good! (**Note: let the record show that I thought it was good, which was echoed at the dinner table by my housemates. But if you talked to them in person, it's very possible that they would have a different opinion.)

I was hit with the sudden realization that I cooked... and that it was good.

In the next couple of days, I proceeded to make bruschetta based upon Ryan's recipe, which I was not able to duplicate exactly, but turned out alright all the same. 

Then came Monday, the true test. I had scheduled myself to cook gnocchi. However, as I started cooking, I realized that I did not have nearly enough food. So I threw together some cucumber salad, a recipe of my mom/Oma's making and Thanksgiving stuffing. I know this does not sound impressive in the slightest.

Here's the impressing part. 1. Least impressive: There is not particular recipe for the cucumber salad, it's all based upon taste. 2. Medium impressiveness: As I started boiling the water for the stuffing, I realized that we did not have enough butter, so I needed to improvise. 3. Most impressive: I made my own gnocchi sauce by completely winging ingredients.

Once again, I impressed myself with the results -- perhaps it's because I have such low expectations for myself, any result is better than expected.

However, none of these surprises were life-changing. 

What was life changing house was the discovery that I actually ENJOY cooking -- a lot. I really do. As I was making the gnocchi, I realized that I was having fun. I was in a groove, playing music in the kitchen. I was having fun mixing different ingredients together to see what they would create. Simply put, I really loved it.


And it seemed like my housemates loved it too. (I got a cooking compliment from Greg, which I would consider a monumental achievement) 

Hold up.

According to my feminist thinking, I'm not supposed to enjoy cooking; rather, I'm supposed to enjoy the act of sucking at it. By liking cooking, I was embracing a housewife lifestyle. 


Or was I?

Maybe my feminist professors wouldn't be too proud after all. I had created this simplistic idea of what a feminist was, which didn't leave room for every type of women. It didn't leave room for women who actually enjoyed the act of being homemakers, who found it empowering, despite people like me rambling that it wasn't a worthy "profession."  It didn't leave room for a lot of women I've been working with over the last few weeks -- single moms who are singlehandedly raising three or four kids without any money. Finally, it didn't leave room for me, the lover of cooking.

Man, am I stupid.

I would never betray Caesar

As JVs, we've come to love the simple things in life -- such as Little Caesar and his freakin' delicious cheap pizza.

It's true, Little Caesars knows what's up. They've got a brilliant business plan and they're making a killing off our business alone.

Now hear me out. 

Everybody knows that JVs are poor. We don't make a lot of money and all of us work hard at jobs that are both emotionally and physically draining. And still, at the end of the day, we have to cook. We come home and slave away over a stove (okay, so maybe only ONCE a week do we have to do this by ourselves. But everybody in the house does have to cook on a weekly basis). But for anybody who knows me, cooking is no easy task and one that puts the entire house at danger-- although I will admit I made a kickass fried rice dish last night. Nonetheless, it is nice to go to some outside place that is NOT our kitchen and, understandably, our very limited budget doesn't allow that to happen very often. Unless... that place is Little Caesars.

We've come to know and love the little tyrant. His palace is just down the street from ours and he requests our presence every Friday.

In other words, by Friday, we want a freakin' break, man!

Caesar is one hell of a ruler, I'll tell yah. He's convenient, located right across the intersection where we get off the bus in the afternoon. And he's a cheap date. $5. That's all it takes. We've actually calculated an estimated $50 savings per week for our house, if we chose to each Little Caesar's pizza every night of the week -- if we so choose.

Just $5 and we've got ourselves one large cheese, albeit probably slightly old, pizza. 10 bucks and we've got ourselves a pizza combo -- cheese AND pepperoni. But that's when we really feel like going wild and splurging (don't even get me started on when we get REALLY crazy and decide to buy a 2-liter of Coke at the dollar store...).

Caesar is a friend we've come to know and love. We have even made the conscious choice to leave a professional baseball game early, just to ensure that we would have enough time to make it to Caesar's adobe before he himself shut his doors for the night. 

We've come to greatly appreciate our LCFs -- our Little Caesar Fridays. So much so that at the encouraging of one of Casa Truth's housemates, I've decided to write a little Ode to Caesar. 

**Disclaimer: I make no claims at being any sort of acceptable poet. Read ahead at your own risk. It's freaking hard to find words that rhyme with "Caesar" and "pizza", okay?!**

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Oh, Caesar, you're my kind of a guy

You come fully loaded, with an entire pizza pie.

Although, I will admit,

It is your price that I most adore

At 5 bucks a pop, I'd gladly have so' more.

You're a cheap, sleazy date

And your sauce is a little plain.

Your cheese is cooked too long,

But you won't hear me complain.

You only speak two words,

but it's just what I need to hear.

My heart gets a fluster,

Every time you come near.

You call "Pizza! Pizza"

And you know it turns me on.

You're so cute in your little orange frock,

Just as sexy in your shiny golden thongs.

I love you more than Romeo loved Juliet.

It's a love they cannot tame.

Pass me the Crazy Bread,

And I too will go insane.

Until pizza Friday, I'll count down the day.

For when the clock chimes 5:00, I'll surely be on my way.

Unlike your scamming senators, Caesar,

You, I would never betray.

Becky spots the promised land

Cold front in Phoenix

Important news alert: it is currently 79 degrees in Phoenix, Arizona. And I'm breaking out the blankets and down jackets. Brrrrrrrrrr

Okay, so I'm a smartass. But today IS the monumental first day since we've been here that the temperature is NOT expected to climb into the 100s. That's right, we're looking at a balmy 96 degrees today and tomorrow, and 99 on Saturday. Rough. But, you know, just in case you're worried, we'll safely return to the 100s just in time for work next week. Rest assured.

I know it's been a week since I last posted, but nothing particularly exciting has occurred since that time. I'm trying to think of something cheeky to post, so that my blog doesn't really turn into a "oh, I did this today list." But I'm afraid that's what it might end up becoming. Any suggestions?

Work is more steadily starting to kick my butt. Since I now have a very minimal idea of what the hell I'm doing, Stephanie and Mike decided I was fit and ready to take on my first client. Personally, I think they both have very obvious poor judgment. 

Because this is week 4, I'm at the end of my "training" program and was supposed to conduct 2 Intakes under   Stephanie's careful supervision. In Case Management 101, an Intake is when a new client that has been admitted into the shelter comes in to meet with their case manager for the first time. We enter a lot of their personal information into HMIS for government tracking. In other words, my Oma would freak out with the amount of personal information we collect from our clients. But no, Oma, we actually DON'T ask for their bank account numbers and current account balances. At least not yet. 

Anyway, during intake I also go over the client's case plan for his/her stay, which basically outlines the goals we have for them over the next 90 days. Finally, we make initial referrals for them to go to food banks, thrift stores, and to even get haircuts. We basically get them started with whatever assistance they need right from the get go. From the Case Manager's perspective, there's a bunch of little things you have to remember to do in that one little meeting -- a lot of details to keep track of. But at the end of it, it's worth it because you know your client is all settled in.

I did my first supervised intake last week for my first client and to say that it was a mess, would be an understatement. Of course, Stephanie was there next to me to cover my butt every single time I messed something up. And my second and third intakes were scheduled for yesterday. Stephanie was going to sit in on the first one, while Mike sat in on the afternoon. Per Murphy's Law, Crazy Shi*t really started to hit the fan and both Stephanie and Mike wound up occupied. 

I was on my own.

It's easy to describe the first intake yesterday: catastrophe, chaos, disaster, madness, failure, major-whoops-moments. At one point, I looked down at my desk and both file drawers were open; for the life of me, I couldn't remember why I had opened either one of them or what form I was trying to retrieve. I was finally able to give my client the information s/he needed, it just wasn't done in the most graceful manner. 2 hours later, I was done with my first Intake... exhausted just in time to start round two.

Luckily, round two went much more smoothly. And while I was completely thrown off my game not to have Stephanie and Mike there in to pitch relief, I'm ultimately glad they weren't. I learned a lot yesterday during those 4 hours (oh yeah, Intakes take a lonnnnng time, in case you couldn't tell). I'm sure I learned more doing it alone than I would have with Stephanie or Mike holding my hand. Protective mothers, take note. 

In other news: is it Friday yet?

Why is it that short weeks always feel so much longer than regular 5-day ones?

Speaking of short weeks, Labor Day weekend was spent the way it was intended -- without work, and with BBQ and beer in hand. Friday night we went over to a JV's house who lives here in Phoenix with his parents. Matt is going to be a JV in Peru, but doesn't leave until November. Surprise, surprise, he's also a Brophy graduate (oh heyyyyyy, Brophy!). The night was a lot of fun, topped off with a swim in their backyard pool and bbqed lamb chops. As JVs, it could be a very long time before we have such fine dining as lamb again.

20 seconds or less description of Saturday: 6 hours of The Office, Little Caesar's Pizza, ice cream, girl's night. That's all you have to know.

Sunday was once again spent at the pool, this time a family friend of Becky's. I'll be honest, this pool rocked. Not only did it have a diving board, but it also had a water slide and was owned by the sweetest old lady I've ever met.

And of course there was Monday, Labor Day. Monday was spent mostly catching up with everything else we DIDN'T do earlier in the weekend. But it was topped off by our very own BBQ in the backyard with Eddie Cullen. You know you're jealous.

Now it's my turn to cook tonight. So keep my housemates in your prayers tonight -- just to make sure that I don't kill them with food poisoning or set the house on fire.

In 1,000 words or less

I'm a criminal.

I stole pictures. But maybe that's a good thing.

Casa Truth's Becky graciously uploaded photos to Facebook and I stole them for my own devices. Well, I stole them so that I could share them on my blog... So maybe my intentions were noble?

Anyway, you'll find them under the Picasa Photostream on the right of the page. If you click on one photo, it should take you to the Picasa album. I'll get around to posting pictures from my OWN camera sometime this weekend or early next week. So if you're a believer that a picture is worth a thousand words, you should be bombarded with symbolic words -- keep your eyes peeled for new photos.

Also, I did my first Intake today, which means I am officially a working Case Manager with my own clients. Heyo!

My ode to Phoenix (Brophy)

This week is flying by (Brophy). Monday was without a doubt the busiest day I've had at work thus far. The phone was ringing off the hook for the entire day and everything was complete chaos. (Heyyyyyyyy, Brophy!) I felt a little bit like my mother -- not eating lunch until after 2:30 p.m. although I easily could have worked through my lunch break.

Usually we'll each get about 10-15 phone calls a day from families who are seeking shelter ( Brophy is the best school ever!). We can tell all of them to come in for a screening and only 2 or 3 will actually step foot into the wait area. Not Monday. I got 25 phone calls alone and screened 7 families myself.

Keep in mind that a screening takes about an hour, depending on the size of the family. (Brophy football! 2007 State Champs!)

I work from 8-5. So it's no stretch to say that I was doing screenings all day long. And it was exhausting. (Go Brophy Broncos!)

I also had to leave a cautionary Post It note on Mike's desk as I left on Monday afternoon. Mike, who had left early in the day for an appointment, left me and Stephanie to our own devices. 8 total screenings later, this is the note I left him. "I give you permission to fire me for the horrendous size of the wait list after today." (John McCain's kids are cool and go to Brophy!)

Without getting too technical on ya, every client who wants to enter the shelter has to go through the screening process before we put them on the wait list. We usually keep our wait list to about 3-5 families so that it doesn't become too long (Wooooo! Brophy!). That way, we can guarantee anybody who gets on the list a spot before the end of the week.

Monday morning, there were only 2 families on said list.

By Monday afternoon there were 10 families on the wait list. Britty fail.(Let's go Brophy! Let's go!)

It was almost a gift that I didn't have to come into the office Tuesday morning to deal with the repercussions of the previous day -- which was primarily my fault, since I kept telling people over the phone to come in for a screening. (Fact: Brophy's school colors are modeled off of Santa Clara University's red and white) I never expected ALL of them to be knocking on our door.

Alas, Tuesday, I didn't have to hear Mike's screams when he looked at the list (according to tradition, Brophy's mascot of a Bronco is also borrowed from Santa Clara). Instead, I was stuck in a computer room all day long getting trained on Homeless Management Information System, or HMIS. (The nation's fastest runner of the 100, is currently a sophomore at Brophy and is predicted to be an Olympic competitor) I was doing some screaming of my own, but mine was only to myself and kept silently to myself. Janice, the technology guru, is a wonderful person. But it still wasn't the most exciting event to ever occur.(Brophy football on the otherhand...)

Today, I'm back at work. I have been "awarded"-- if that's the right word for it -- my first ever clients. I have two families, both are single parents. My first client was supposed to come in for his Intake this morning, but had to cancel due to an eye appointment. So I've spent the majority of the day further practicing on HMIS, before I'm thrown to the lions tomorrow...

(I wish I was a boy, so that I could go to Brophy!)

*NOTICE-- it has come to my attention that any person who has a Google Alerts account is routed to my blog IF it contains any of the keywords they are currently searching for. Some Google Alerts users even receive alerts to their phone, so if I put up any post with the keyword within it, they receive an immediate notification email. Now, for all of those who might be technologically unsavvy, Google Alerts are email updates based on your choice of query or topic. In other words, if somebody is signed up for a Google Alert pertaining to anything regarding, say, Brophy College Preparatory, they might be directed here purely for this sentence.

Alright, meow. Brophy, this one's for you.**

Dear Arizona, please accept this $70 as an offering

I had my first no good, dirty rotten day in Arizona on Thursday. I won't go into too much detail describing it, because I'm sure nobody really cares and nobody really wants to be friends with a downer. So I'll just say that I had an encounter with a couple of difficult clients and difficult clients. I had to turn away a couple in the middle of a screening, just because they didn't meet one of our pretty insubstantial rules. It was heartbreaking. It was also just a wacky day in general, that didn't make a whole lot of sense. It was exhausting.

It all culminated in waiting at our bus stop at the end of the day and being crawled on by a bunch of fire ants. Becky and I boarded the bus, 31-day bus pass in hand, and sat down. We sat down across from a pretty talkative, albeit pretty creepy couple. I then started feeling pain in my foot and realized I had probably been bit by a fire ant. On top of that, the bus started leaking on me, because it had rained earlier in the day and apparently AZ buses aren't particularly prepared for such weather. It made for a stressful bus ride.

Somewhere along that ride, I managed to misplace my 31-day bus pass (probably dropping it when I bent down to look at my foot?). We got off at our first bus stop, and when we went to transfer to the second bus, the bus pass was gone.

Now, in the grand scheme of things I know it wasn't that big of a deal. But when you're already having a pretty bad day, it was just the final straw that broke me. I had been doing okay throughout the day, despite the crazy shi*t that had occurred at work. It was tiring, but I was handling it. But you know those days where they're just bad and the smallest thing is what FINALLY sends you over the edge? Yeah, that's what happened. And my "small thing" was this bus pass. Now, let me explain. These bus passes are actually $55, but CASS gets them at a discounted price of $27.50. And Becky and I got our first 31-day bus pass when we first arrived... and we got them completely free. It was scheduled to last us until Sept. 17th. So the major reason this misplaced bus pass finally broke my day is because I wasn't sure how I was going to go about getting a new one. CASS runs almost completely on donations and giving out bus passes everyday isn't something CASS can really afford. So I was dreading making the admission to my boss that I had already lost mine, within the first 2 weeks of work. Like I said, I knew I was overreacting. But... it was one of those days.

So. There you have it. That was my first dirty rotten, no good day in Phoenix. And I realize that it really wasn't that bad, and I'm sure I'll have far worse days. And I also realize that I promised that I would keep the description of said day brief, and I did anything but that.

Let me make up for it by describing my awesome day.

I think the cosmos felt slightly bad about the previous day, so they set out to make Friday pretty epic.

So since I didn't have a bus pass, I was fully prepared to pay $2 cash to ride the bus the next morning, until I could figure out the bus pass situation. I was kinda bummed because it was $4 down the drain, since I had to pay $2 the previous day for our second bus home (I know this is getting a little confusing, but I'm hoping you can follow it). Anyhow, I got onto the bus Friday morning, with my $2 in hand, and was ready to feed it into the money machine.

That's when the driver slammed his hand down over the money collector machine (what DO you call those things anyway?) before I could slide my 2 bucks in and told me, "Just go!" as he pointed towards the back of the bus.

No paying? Sweeeeet.

It was the start to a good day.

I then got to work and explained the bus pass situation to Stephanie. I told her what happened and how much of an idiot I felt like... and how I would pay for a new one, but I just didn't know how to go about it. I then mentioned that I was an idiot... again. She just looks at me and shrugged. "It happens," she said. "I've done it before too. I'll go get you another one." And she returned about 20 seconds later with a brand new pass in hand.

Win.

But the awesomeness of the day didn't end there. Stephanie came back into my office a few minutes later and told me that I was going toy shopping in one of the sheds at the shelter. Walking the block back from the shelter to the Case Management office with a huge black trash bag full of toys, I got honked at by a pickup trunk. "Hey Santa Claus!" the driver yelled. I think this is the first time I actually appreciated getting honked at while in Phoenix.

For about an hour, I had the sweetest office ever.

Then Stephanie came and took some of the toys for her office, but I still have a pretty nice collection of fun new toys.

So I went from a pretty crappy day to an awesome one, filled with fun toys. Naturally, of course, the list of bizarre Phoenix injuries continues. I managed to pinch my fingers in the handles of my scissors as I was opening one of the toy boxes and wound up with this beauty.

Pretty awesome, right? Blood blister created by the blunt end of the scissors. I've got talent, I tell yah. Be thankful, I'll spare you the details of popping it... ewwwwwwww.

Anyways, yesterday (Saturday) we fought our next battle with Chase bank, which is quickly becoming the Comcast Debacle of 2010... part 2. Hopefully, Chase has finally worked out our Casa Truth house account so that we can finally start receiving our stipends and finally be able to buy groceries, without having to get reimbursed.

Saturday also featured us upholding a Phoenix tradition: floating down the Salt River on inner tubes. Apparently in a city where there really isn't much to do, tubing is a favorite past time. Even the head of the shelter, who is my boss' boss, told me that he goes every year. And was giving me pointers on what to do and what to bring.

We probably should have listened to him a little more closely.

Casa Truth and Casa Bart had an epic time... mostly because we failed so awesomely. One of the pointers Ty (my boss' boss) told me was that we should bring coolers, but not styrofoam coolers. Well, we had 2 hard coolers... anddddd one styrofoam cooler, which fell apart within seconds of getting into the river. We were also instructed to wear "real" shoes, not flip flops. Since most of us brought only a fraction of our belongings, including shoes, we didn't have any real shoes that we felt comfortable potentially ruining in the river. So we stuck to flip flops and bare feet.

Bad idea. We did a lot of slipping and sliding on rocks. And we lost a couple of flip flops to the river. Thankfully, I did listen to the piece of advice where I was told not to bring nice sunglasses, because I WOULD lose them. Some of the other JVs were not so lucky.

Man down.

Man still down.

The worst of it was my fault though. Well, potentially, at least. I was the only person who brought a backpack (why? I'm not really sure). So I became un-official mom for the day and carried A LOT of everybody's stuff. Somewhere during the 2 1/2 hour ride down the water, I managed to lose my SCU Iron Bronco shirt, which was my swimsuit coverup, and two wallets. Thankfully, it isn't as bad as it sounds. One of the wallets was completely empty. The other was completely empty... except for the $70, which we were able to finally withdraw from Chase earlier in the morning. Phoenix, I'm telling you now, that is our offering to you; it's our offering, in exchange for a peaceful and enjoyable rest of our stay. Cuz we ain't getting that 70 bucks back, you Salt River jerk!

All in all, it was a great day, with a lot of fun had by all. Despite encountering some ridiculously intoxicated people (one so much so, that he was actually arrested), the scenery was surprisingly nice. Since the tubing route was outside of the city, there were some beautiful mountains and foliage. I wish I could say we had some pictures, but if we had brought a camera, it probably would have been lost to the Salt River gods as well. It was a lot of fun, even if nobody else in either Casa remembers Scott yelling in a British accent, coaching us along as we got stuck on a batch of particularly tricky rocks. "Don't give up now! That's exactly what they want you to do!"

Needless to say, the combination between the few hours spent in the sun, the river water and the, uh, "spirits," was enough to leave everybody exhausted.

Today (Sunday) several members from Casa Truth and Casa Bart partook in the Brophy "Sunday Fun Day" (I wish I was making up that title, but that's actually for real). Pretty much, Sunday Fun Day is just a high school version of Franktown's field day, although not nearly as cool because there are no water balloon tosses, tug-a-wars, or (most importantly) the Mr. O obstacle course. But there was soccer, volleyball, swimming, ultimate frisbee, and football. Casa Truth and Casa Bart kicked some Brophy ass and dominated in ultimate frisbee. And KOK (that's Katie O'Keefe) and I dominated two boys in a game of 2 vs. 2 soccer. The highlight of the day was jumping in the pool at the end of ultimate frisbee fully clothed and being able to take food home, which will provide sustenance for the next few days free of charge. Free food really is clutch when you have very little money in your wallet.

Oh, and one other thing. Our good friend Edward Cullen, yes Edward Cullen, picked us up and dropped us off this morning. He also has my phone number.

No big deal.

It's the small things

I have only 4 things to report.

1. Somehow, I managed to get a line of bug bites up the inside of my left leg. I got them Sunday night and they seemed like normal run-of-the-mill mosquito bites (in AZ? who knew?). Monday they were fine. Still normal, albet annoying.

Tuesday they swelled up into the size of welts.

A photo illustration which I've included below... cuz you know you have nothing better to do than look at them.

Pretty gnarly, no? That one right above my knee was torturous.

I was starting to get worried because my housemate Becky was talking about how Arizona apparently has this specific type of spider that will bite you, but the poison takes 2 days to kick into gear. And when it does, it burns off your skin. Now, this sounds like a far-fetched story... but we have children at Vista Colina who have actually been bitten by this spider and have needed to go to the hospital for treatment. Additionally, Vista Colina is having an issue with bed bugs. I didn't want to have anything to do with either creepy crawler, particularly when it has to do with my skin and the potential to burn off.

The good news: the swelling has down a lot today and the bug bites are back to normal-ish size.

2. I'm a little late to the band wagon, but Arrested Development is fantastic. I'm watching a couple of episodes every night before I hit the hay. I'm blaming Casa Bart for getting me hooked, but I'm glad they did. No touching!

3. I am exceptionally tired, beyond the point of exhaustion. What's that called? Yeah, whatever it is. I'm there.

4. I got my first real page over the walkie talkies yesterday. Yes, there is a difference between a real page and a fake one. First of all, just to clarify, a page over the walkie talkie is when the front desk at Sunnyslope Family Center calls over the walkie talkie to let CASS know that we have a client so that we can come let them in through the locked doors to the wait area. For the past week, I've only heard, "Stephanie (or Mike), you have a client." Now, on Friday. There was the first, "Brittany, you have a client." I was over-the-moon excited. Turns out, it was a page for the other Brittany -- the one who comes in once a week to do counseling sessions with some of the clients. Total let down.

But like I said, I got my first real page yesterday. It was, in fact, actually clients who came in with the sole purpose of seeing me. Yes, that is completely narcissistic, and yes... I loved every second of it. :)

Oh yeah, and my phone has my name on it now. NBD. Narcissism score: 2.

"Esta es por este"

My Spanish isn't that great.

Every here and there I can pick up a phrase or two from a mixture of high school Spanish (Gracias, Seniora Hinkle) and phrases that sound very similar in Italian.

I do know what "esta es por este" means -- "this is for you all." And it's NOT something you want directed at you when you accidentally walk into an all Hispanic/Latino nightclub from a man singing Spanish polka karaoke... which is exactly what happened Friday night for our first REAL weekend in Phoenix.

But the weekend didn't start off that exciting.

I got off of work at 5 p.m., just in time to sit on a bus for an hour and a half, attempting to get to a soup kitchen in Southern Phoenix to help out my casa mates and our support staff (made up of former JVs) before the dinner service closed. Our support staff suggested the idea the very first night we arrived in Phoenix; we'd go down to a local soup kitchen and all of us would help serve the clients. All of Casa Truth thought it was a great idea, but there was the issue that all of the casa mates get off of work at different times and may not be able to make it to help set up and serve by 4 p.m. In fact, me and Eddie were just attempting to get there before the entire event was over.

We didn't. Eddie and I arrived at the soup kitchen's location only to be picked up in front by everybody else -- whisked away to get some pizza instead. We wound up at this mom and pop owned pizza joint that was a pretty fun environment -- down to the music, which was conveniently performed by mom and pop's college-age son. The kid had some definite musical talent, but he probably should not have picked such classics like Imagine, You've Lost that Lovin' Feeling, and Tiny Dancer to remake right in front of us. He was good... but he ain't that good. While all of us were silently grimacing in pain, every single one of the people on our support team was eating it up, loving every second of it. But like I said, he ain't that good. Just as an example, half way through the dinner, he decided to play Every Rose Has it Thorns. I sent a quick text message to my casa mate Greg, who just happened to be sitting right across the table from me, wedged between two members of our support team. "Somewhere Bret Michaels just had another aneurysm," I wrote. My phone buzzed ten seconds later with his response.

"Somewhere I want to hang myself?"

All kidding aside, it was a great dinner. And we got to know our support staff a little bit better. I found out that Lynn is a Santa Clara grad, so we reflected back on our glory days. It seems like just yesterday... oh wait.
After dinner. We parted ways with our support staff and Ms. Krystal, who had kindly donated her night to a Brophy lock-in event. Meanwhile, everybody was ready to hit the town and drown away the stress of the entire previous week.

We drove around for a loooooong time as Greg tried to find alcohol that fit his high standards (he used to be a bartender), eventually winding up at home. Now Mom, before you sit there and wonder what happened to my good Christian values, I will proudly say that I volunteered myself up as Designated Driver. Seriously. You can ask any one of the housemates and they'll vouch for me. Really. Okay, stop laughing.

I drove us down to a bar that was recommended by former JVs. It wasn't bad, but the bar started to empty out around midnight, and we thought that probably wasn't a good sign.

Then somebody mentioned that there was a bar right down the street from our house, less than a mile away, so we could try that one. If it was a complete disaster or really lame, it wouldn't be that big of a deal because we could just head home and crash.

I parked the car in the parking lot and it became immediately clear that this was going to be interesting.

Becky got out of the car and her first words were, "I have a good feeling about this one!"

Er...

As we walked up to the establishment, we were met with two things. 1) Loud polka music that could be heard even outside. All the lyrics were in Spanish. 2) Hardcore bouncers. As me and Becky were getting ID checks, Greg started chatting with the bouncer who was patting him down (yeah, patted down. Like I said, hardcore). "So... we're not going to fit in here, are we?" Greg asked. The bouncer just started laughing.

That probably should have been the first sign.

Now, there is no way to accurately describe what happened next. But if you've ever seen Animal House and the scene where the group goes into the Dexter Lake Club, you have a pretty good idea about how we felt. (This comparison was not my own, but after it was mentioned, I realized it was dead on) We walked in and immediately every head turned our way. Thankfully, the music never faultered, but you know, we did have the polka singer dedicating his song to us. So which one is worse, you be the judge.

Now before anybody gets upset, this happened all by accident, and by no means am I trying to diminish the reputation of this establishment. All I'm saying is that we felt very out of place there, which is probably a good experience for every White person to go through... more than once even. It lets us, as people in the majority, understand what it feels like to be in the minority, even though it was a very abbreviated taste of the experience. And I'll tell you what. It was really uncomfortable and not something I'd like to repeat. I give any sort of immigrant or any sort of under-represented population in this country a lot of credit, because this is not an experience I could repeat on a daily basis.

But I'll give off of my JVC soapbox for the time being, noting that it was a difficult experience, but probably one that I needed.

Anyway, thinking it would probably be more embarrassing to walk in and then do a quick pivot to turn right out the door again, we decided to take our chances and walk up to the bar.

The bartenders immediately started whispering to eachother. Eddie ordered the "smallest beer you have" and was comically delivered an 8 oz. Bud Light. It sat on the counter next to Becky's 12 oz for the next 10 minutes as everybody quickly gulped down their drinks, despites the stares directed our way.

We left pretty quickly.

And cracked up the entire way home.

Oh, and we went to the Rockies game on Saturday. We were unfortunate enough to see Jimenez get rocked by a last place team.

But the four hot dogs I've eaten the past two days were delicious.

Hit and run

I pick up the bus at 7th Ave. and Camelback.

... There just happened to be a fatal accident at 7th Ave. and Camelback.

A pedestrian was hit by a car driving 90 miles an hour on Tuesday night (which hit two other cars and the side of a building before stopping). I'll skip the gruesome details but it basically resulted in them closing down 7th Ave. and Camelback from 10 p.m. Tuesday morning till about 11 a.m. Wednesday morning. Except nobody bothered to tell me. Sometimes I wonder if it's really a good thing not to have a well-functioning television in the house. It's nice because it's not an easy distraction, but it probably would have been beneficial to watch the news Wednesday morning.

Anyway, I walk about 1 mile every morning to get to the 7th Ave. and Camelback bus stop. On Wednesday, I walked that 1 mile, only to find that the street was completely blocked off by barricades and police vehicles. As I stared down the street trying to figure out what was going on, a man came up to me.

"There ain't no buses running," he said.

I noticed.

After excitedly pointing out the blue tarp in the middle of the road, something I found to be quite morbid, he then tried to direct me to the nearest bus stop  for any bus that would travel north. He recommended I go all the way back to 15th or 11th Ave., which isn't particularly close.

So, I called my boss to tell him that I was going to be late -- on the third day of work. I feel like that has to be a mark against me of some kind, even if the roads were blocked, there weren't any buses, and I have no idea how to get around in this city. It was still the third day of work. And I was going to be late. Fail.

I started desperately racking my brain to see if I could remember what our tour guide said on Friday about the grid system of the city and how the street numbers worked. I finally decided the best option was to backtrack a street to avoid the road block and then just walk north a few blocks to get around the police barricade -- somehow get back to 7th Ave. and another bus stop that was on the route I usually took.

Turns out, I ended up walking about three miles in order to find said bus stop.

I started off my morning with some intense exercise. And I only managed to be about 20 minutes late. Semi-impressive, right? But three miles in 103 degree weather was brutal (and nastily sweaty). I walked into work and immediately needed to use the bathroom in order to clean myself up a little bit.

We also had our first house "Spirituality Night" yesterday. I led Mandala's for the house, which started as very insightful and then turned quickly into a conversation about Disney, its disgusting empire and how it copies its own stuff. It then evolved into a heated discussion about old-school Disney Channel and about how awesomely awful all those shows were -- Lizzie McGuire, Even Stevens. We started comparing our resume of watched Disney Channel Original Movies.

So much for an insightful reflection period.

So that was yesterday...
*****

Today went much better transportation wise, aside from the bus being about 10 minutes late.

But the day quickly turned really interesting.

I received a tour of the apartments finally, and got to see the digs all of the clients are living in. They're nicer than 1130 Alviso Street, and I think the "landlord" is a little bit more accomodating... just sayin'.

But things got REALLY interesting when Stephanie and Mike accidentally scheduled their own individual appointments at the same time. Awesome, let's leave the new girl alone so she can accidentally torch the building. I'm currently sitting alone in the office and it's been absolute madness (and yes, this is Sparta).

I'm not sure why it's Murphy's Law that everything starts to pick up immediately as Mike took one step out the door, but it did. Crazily. And I'm a total newb. I filled out a series of referalls (and don't worry, I don't know what those are either, and I was the one who was supposed to be filling them out). I ran around with a broken walkie-talkie on my belt, telling me every two seconds that "Mike (or Stephanie), you have a client." I struggled to figure out how to use the fax machine for a client (it was my first time using it ever and probably not the best time for me to learn). I made out money orders (something Stephanie had showed me the abbreviated version of right before she left). I told several people over the phone that we were completely filled to capacity and then listened to their hearts sink when they learned there was no room. I tried to geographically direct a potential client across a city I don't know. And... all around ran around like a chicken with it's head cut off.

I guess that's ONE way to learn.

But now things have started to calm down a little and I have had time to write a quick blog. Yep, things are slowing down.

... Oh look! There's Mike. And Mr. Murphy with his law.

And what the hell is that smell?!

There's one thing they forget to tell you about monsoon season. It smells like a toilet.

Really. It would be just as efficient to stick your head in a toilet and take a big whiff as it would be to walk outside for a little "fresh air."

It's pretty nasty.

I'm not sure why I'm attracted to cities that smell (to which I direct your attention to my Italy blog), but it seems to be a growing trend.

I'm just hoping that the sky of toilet water doesn't decide to rain on us tomorrow...

***

This is gonna be a short post. One, I'm honestly too exhausted to write a lot and, two, I don't want to keep boring you to death. Is anybody actually reading this?

Anyways, second day of work. Had to walk about 2 miles to get to the bus stop at 7 a.m. this morning. Ain't life a kick in the head?

Work was craziness. There's three case manager total, myself included. Stephanie, my boss, is also a case manager, but is also taking classes to get her degree. So she has some weird work hours. For example, she didn't come in today until 1 p.m. This left poor Mike (the third case manager) left with all the clients, phone calls, walk-ins, and the newbie who didn't know anything.

I felt so useless watching Mike try to carry out a screening while he sat there with his phone ringing back to back. And I just stood there. Literally. I had no clue what to do. I was supposed to be observing, but I felt like I should be doing something to help instead. I felt useless, answering a phone call whenever I was ever lucky enough (and the clients were unlucky enough) to have dialed my extension instead of Mike's.

That is until Mike walked into my office (my office?! I still can't get used to saying that) and told me that I would be running the next screening.

Hold the phone. I'd observed maybe three of them yesterday, but I was actually going to be running my own today? Right this second? My second day of work?

I'm not ready for this.

Mike spent the next 30 minutes correcting me in front of the client, patiently. "What she meant to say was... fill in the blank." The poor client. She must have heard Mike say that about 5 times.

Good news: the second screening went much more smoothly. And neither Mike or Stephanie felt the need to observe me. So I must not have tanked the first one as badly as I initially thought.

Other than that, can say that I have anything to report. A mother came in with 11 children today, and I'm not even mad... I'm just impressed.

... Did I mention it smells like toilet?

"Coffees bad for me."

So... I might be a little premature in this statement, but I really love my job.

And I really hate HR (but don't HR that I said that, cuz that might come back to bite me in the butt with, well, HR).

Today was a pretty surreal day. My alarm went off at 7 a.m. and all of my casa mates were pretty much all gone already. Their jobs make me feel lazy that I don't have to be at work until 8 a.m. Just as an example, Greg has to be at work by 6:45. Yeah, that's nasty. But that's beside the point. I was talking about surrealism, kinda (that's probably a joke only Art History majors would get). Anyway, it was pretty strange waking up this morning knowing that I was finally going to be heading to the job for which I've basically been preparing myself for the past 7 months. It was all building up to today.

And it didn't disappoint.

I was picked up this morning at 8:30 a.m. (got to sleep in on my first day, epic win!) by a woman that reminded me scarily of Cousin Janice, except a little bit older and looked more like she belonged at the library than at a weight lifting competition. But she was one of the sweetest people I've ever met, who kept getting lost on the way to the main CASS campus. Bless her heart, she also had hearing aids, which I'm convinced were a little too sensitive, because lord knows I couldn't hear what she was whispering to me.

Now, just to set the record straight (not that anybody particularly cares), I'm not working at the downtown main CASS campus, which is a shelter designated for single men and women who are homeless. I'm working at the CASS Vista Colina campus, emergency housing for homeless families with kids, and technically I'm not even there. I'm two blocks away from that in the Sunnyslope (I keep wanting to call it Sunnyside 'cuz it reminds me of Toy Story 3) office building. The other two Case Managers and I are isolated away from everybody in our own little corridor of offices.

But I didn't even get to see my office (yeah, I have my own office, no big deal) until after 1 p.m. today. Instead, I spent the majority of my morning in the downtown CASS campus getting trained by a temporary HR representative who was too similar in appearance and personality to Holly Flax from The Office for my comfort.

Impostor Cousin Janice then drove us back to Vista Colina and I got the abbreviated tour of the emergency shelter and the childcare facilities. Then, finally, I got to see where I was personally going to be working.

Now let me tell you, I had about 5 minutes of down time when I got to the Case Manager offices. I walked in to find a binder with info waiting for me (thanks Eileen, I'm gonna need all the help I can get!) that I even really have time to read and I got my office keys.

Then just like that, I was getting called in to sit in on my first Screening. Lesson 101 in Case Management lingo, a Screening is when a potential client comes in for their first meeting with a Case Manager. The client comes in because spaces are opening up in the shelter and the clients are called in for an initial screening (get it?) to see if they are eligible for the program. The basic rules are that the clients have to be 30 days clean, have children, and not have stayed in any other family shelters within the past year. Basically, the entire meeting helps the Case Mangers get a feel for the client to see if they would be a good fit from the shelter and if they would benefit from being there.

If they qualify, they are placed on the waiting list. The clients have to call in every day to see if there's an actual opening that they can move into — it usually takes about a week for them to go from the list to an actual apartment.

That's all the nuts and bolts — the boring rules.

Most of that stuff, I was minimally briefed on before I arrived in Phoenix.

What I wasn't prepared for was real life.

Without giving out any specifics, I encountered pregnant women, some seeking shelter away from their abusive husbands; a grandmother who was a couple years older than my brother's age, who had a 15-year-old daughter who had a three year old and was expecting her next one any day now; and an alcoholic mother.

It was a lot for the first day.

But it was all made better by the kids. Every Case Manger's office comes equipped with a toy bin (including mine, so you know you wanna come visit), so the kids can hang out while the parents are getting interviewed/screened. The kids were most enthralled with an older-model phone that still had a curly cord and everything. Each kid called a different imaginary friend and was exceptionally disappointed when nobody answered.

However, the cutest kid award goes to a little girl with a rather colorful butterfly backpack, which she refused to take off.

At one point my boss got up from her seat, with paperwork in her hand and said, "Okay, sit tight. I'll be right back — I'm going to go make copies."

To which the little girl announced rather forcibly, "My mom says coffee's bad for me."

Copies. Coffee. It's all bad for us.