Xasper8ing

*These are excerpts from an essay I wrote for one of my college classes back in 2007*

Jessica Erin

Growing up, my mother would scold me as Jessica Erin, as if the use of my middle name stressed just how much trouble I was in. At the sound of those two words, I knew to start running.
I'm upstairs playing with my Barbies, doing anything I can to disguise the black mold spots that cover their hairlines from the many times I've taken them with me into the bathtub. Sleepover Barbie is hopeless, as is Skipper, her little sister. I wrap their heads in white gauze and decide to play hospital - they're the injured patients.
"You're lucky you have fake plastic hair, Ken," I mutter as I dress the doll in jeans, then toss him aside.
"Jessica Erin!" my mother bellows from downstairs.
I freeze, my white Barbie convertible clutched in one hand. Quick, what have I done in the past three hours? I put away my Skip-It...that can't be it...I cleaned up after lunch, so she can't yell at me about that...
"Wh-wh-what?" I ask timidly, poised to hide.
"Did you or did you not spill my nail polish on the carpet?"
Oh yeah. Whoops. "No..." I trail off.
"No? Then who did?"
"Abby! Abby did it, not me!" Abby is our cat, and my substitute for a little sister I can blame things on. Sorry, Abby, I think as I glance at her sleeping soundly on my bed.
"Oh really? And did Abby put the cap back on the nail polish and push the rocking chair over the stain on the carpet to try to hide it?" Her words are slow, forced, and I can picture her standing with her head cocked to one side, her neck stiff with anger.
I don't answer her, so she climbs the stairs and stops in my doorway, her hands pressed against the doorjamb. Her face is bright pink and she's tonguing her cheek, which she only does when she's really mad.
I panic. She's blocked my only way out of the room. I've run out of lies. My dad's not home, so I can't go to him for mercy. I sigh and summon my cutest, most adorable pout, my last resort.
"Hi, Mommy."

Jess

My friends and family soon shortened my name down to Jess. I'm not quite sure how I feel about this. On one hand, I like how I feel when they call me Jess: warm, familiar, like these select people know me better than anyone else. On the other hand, I feel that Jess as a name is kind of...ugly. It's too short, and the "-ss" at the end is somehow awkward.
My name is cruel to people with lisps, any way you say it. An ex-boyfriend of mine spoke with a lisp, so for the better part of a year my name was either "Jethica" or "Jeth." Even uglier.
Mrs. Zerafa, my fifth grade teacher, tried to start calling me Jess by the second week of the semester. I tried to let it slide at first, but after awhile I cringed every time she said it. I couldn't stand the woman; she and Bozo shared the same hairstyle, she wore too much lipstick, and she loved brown-nosers. Especially Jessica L., the only other Jessica in the class. Jessica L. could do no wrong in Mrs. Zerafa's eyes, even though she had the IQ of a carrot. For whatever reason, she was allowed to keep her full name, and I had mine hacked down to Jess, the -ica shoved into a corner and ignored.
I finally just stopped responding whenever Mrs. Zerafa called me Jess, and eventually she took the hint and gave me my -ica back. Victory.

J3$$1C@

I hate my name. Well, no, let's just say I strongly dislike it. Very strongly. I've always felt this way - it's boring and overused. But beyond how common it is, I don't feel like a Jessica. Some people fit their names perfectly, and I can't imagine them being named anything different. Their names match their personality so exactly. Mine just feels wrong.
It's not that it's too girly. I'd take Angelica, Catalina, Katrina, Magdalena.anything but Jessica. Although Jessica will always be better than Bernadette - I shudder at the cruelty of some parents.
If I had been a boy, my mother would have named me Brandon, which some Irish scholars believe to mean "stinking hair." I'm glad I turned out a girl.
Every Jessica I've ever met, I haven't liked. Maybe that's why I hate being one myself. Actually, I haven't liked any Brandons either, now that I think about it. Or Erins. I'm sure this suggests some deep psychological dislike of myself as a person, which might very well be true, but I dropped out of psych my second year in college, so I won't attempt self-diagnosis.
My name backwards is Acissej, which sounds like some bad-tasting cherry cough medicine. My initials combined with my best friend's initials spells out J.E.R.K.S. I have an intense hatred of the nickname Jessi, inherited from my mother. I had a problem saying my Rs when I was a toddler, so my name then was "Jessica Ewin."
I came up with the name Xasper8ing for e-mailing and instant messaging purposes, and was pleased with my cleverness. I'm known as Apparate in the World of Warcraft. I'm Jessipoo to my siblings-in-law, Jessidica to my best friend, and Kid to my parents.