Pizza Guy Serenade.

Apologies, apologies, apologies! It has been far too long since I sent out an email to y'all. Life has been pretty good. Busy, but good. Like… extremely busy. And an email is long overdue. Sorry!

I had a date two Fridays ago… but don't get too excited, I hadn't met him beforehand. See, being so busy and all, I haven't really had the opportunity to be noticed much by the guys in my ward. After mentioning this to Shannon, she decided to organize a group date, and she proceeded to set me up with her friend Carl. I had absolutely no objection to this, seeing as I hadn't been on a date for four months.

So, Friday night comes, and Shannon has pumpkins! And she made pumpkin dip, too, based on a recipe Rachel's mom had given us. Carl called to say he would be late, but Shannon didn't mind too much. See, Shannon had been having difficulty finding herself a date. No, it's not that she didn't asked anyone, but rather… every guy she's asked has been busy. She finally asked a guy in our ward named Jacob whom she'd been hoping to not have to ask (he likes her, she doesn't like him back, and she would prefer not to lead him on). After that had been worked out, Carl showed up, and the four of us sat in our living room for a moment until Jacob came. Then Shannon announced, "Okay! Let's go! Service date at the Wilk!"

We journeyed up the hill that we all live at the bottom of. Shannon and Jacob talked, and Carl and I talked. Carl mentioned that this is his first semester at BYU and that he just got off his mission three months ago.

"Where'd you serve?" I asked.

"Albania," came the answer.

I blinked. … … "Oh," I said. "I know someone who served there."

He looked up in surprise. "You do? Who?"

"Michael Smith?"

"Oh! I know him!" Carl exclaimed.

Oh dear. Remember Michael Smith? He's the one who I'm pretty darned certain liked me last spring term. You know. The one that visited me every day, threw a surprise birthday party for me, tried to con me into holding his hand, and graced me with a piggyback serenade? The smiley, manipulative one. Remember him? Yes. Him. He also served in Albania, and when he got back he wrote the new Albanian grammar book that the missionaries now use. "Really?" I said.

"Well, not really, I know who he is, and I did a few splits with him, but that's about it."

Phew. Which means I won't have to deal with any Michael Smith stories. Good.

We got to the Wilk, where we proceeded to put to cut out the pieces for school bags. Once Carl and I got tired of cutting fabric, we moved to the coloring tables. We got to color alphabet books for kids. Much more exciting. I freaking love coloring. I found out some more random trivia about my date… he is the fifth of thirteen children, went to Mesa High, and is a mechanical engineering major.

At one point, Shannon's date bit me (Me: "JACOB!" Jacob: "What? It was Shannon!" Me: "SHANNON! JACOB BIT ME!" Shannon: "JACOB!"). Scary… I mean, in past times when a guy starts to stare at me, I always get a little scared and hear myself thinking, "He looks like he's going eat me or something. Run!" Then I'll reassure myself that that's ridiculous… but you know, now I'm not so sure. Jacob scares me now, more than ever. A hint for the guys: don't bite your date or any of the other girls in the date group. Bad idea. We don't like it.

After we got tired of coloring, we headed back to our place. We gathered our pumpkins, newspapers, knives, markers, graham crackers, and pumpkin dip, and headed over to the 4-plex, where our friend Kelsey lives. Now there were four couples. Kelsey and her boyfriend as well as a married couple (that Shannon, Carl, and Kelsey knew) made our date group a party of eight. There were four pumpkins, so one pumpkin per couple.

Carl and I got our pumpkin and immediately began plotting its fate. He grabbed a newspaper and started doodling design ideas. He wasn't very good at it and gave up pretty quickly, handing the marker to me. "Draw something," he urged.

I shrugged, and started to draw pumpkin-type faces with quick strokes. I was unhappy with most of them, so as soon as I finished one face, I moved to another idea. "Wow," I heard. I continued to draw, waiting for him to say he liked one. "Whoa! Stop! That one looks like a bunny!" I looked down at one face I had just drawn. Its eyebrows did look a little like rabbit ears I suppose.

"Yeah," I said. "What about it?"

"Can you draw a bunny?" he asked.

"Uh," I said. I drew a silhouette of one. I hated it. So I kept trying to draw a better one, and I thought I was improving, but Carl kept pointing at the original one I had drawn and saying he liked it. Although it was definitely not my favorite sketch of the many I had drawn on the newspaper, he admired it with such awe that I couldn't refuse. He also requested that we make it a killer zombie bunny. So I added an arrow through his head, and let it hold a scythe.

So Carl gave me the pumpkin and watched expectantly. "Uh… you wanna draw it?" I asked. He shook his head and answered that he couldn't. I shrugged and duplicated the bunny on the pumpkin. He just kind of watched, which made me a little uneasy. He was still watching intently after I had finished, so I then picked up the knife and started to carve it. I had carved out about half of it when I offered the pumpkin to him again. "You wanna carve the rest?"

He shook his head. "No… You're doing a good job." I sighed and finished the carving. This happens every time I end up showing that I can draw while on a date… the guy stops drawing and just watches me draw. A little frustrating, because I like watching another person draw just as much as anybody else. I don't really care if they don't think they're good at it or not. I mean, I don't think I'm very good at in the first place.

Well, after the pumpkins were carved, Carl kind of shuffled his feet and said quietly. "Uhhh… do you wanna go on a walk?"

I blinked. "Sure?"

"It's just that I need to, um, make sure my research paper was received, and I need to go home and do that on my computer and uh… yeah…" He looked very, very embarrassed.

Shrugging, I repeated my previous answer. "Sure, let's go." We walked over to his place, and he dashed to his room. I made myself at home on the couch. 'Twas a comfy couch, really.

When he was done, we walked back to Kelsey's place, Carl apologizing all the while. I'm sorry the system was down earlier, I'm sorry, you must think I'm a loser, I'm sorry, I feel stupid for having to do homework on a date, etc. I dismissed the situation as trivial more than once, but he kept apologizing. Whatever.

When we got back, we had caramel apples, and took pictures. Carl held a knife at my throat for one of them to be funny buuuut... It was scary. Very scary. Another hint for the guys: holding a knife to your date's throat is also not a good idea.

After the pictures we sat in the living room and talked for a while. Carl and I were pretty much done contributing to the conversation about an hour into it, after which everyone else talked and we just listened. When the conversation finally died down, we went home. And I got a hug. (Yay!) And that was the end of that night.

Well, the next morning was Saturday, and we had cleaning checks. The six of us spent hours beautifying our little apartment. By the time we were done, the inspectors came by and peeked around, and passed us. Oh, whatever. We all collapsed on the sofa. And then...

"Pizza!" someone said.

I gasped, and three of us (myself included) shouted, "TIMMY!"

Hm. This needs a bit of explanation. A month or so ago, we were tired and order an extra-large pizza with every single meat topping available. Plus pineapple. When we tasted our heavy-toppinged pizza, we loved and decided that such a delightful creation was worthy of a name. So, we named it Timmy.

I immediately pulled out my laptop and my wallet. My dad and I share a credit card, which I am only allowed to use in times of pizza emergency. No, I can't get candy or clothes or anything else with this card. Just pizza. And this was definitely a time of pizza emergency... six, tired hungry girls with no energy left to fix up a meal? This calls for Timmy! Times two!

I don't know if any of you have ever ordered pizza online... but it's pretty fun. It's a lot easier to mega-customize your pizza without confusing the heck out of the person on the other end, and they even have a space to fill in special instructions for the delivery guy. Then once you order, you get to moniter the progress of your pizza... it tells when your pizza is being assembled, and by who; when your pizza has been put in the oven, and who put it there; when they boxed your pizza, and who did it; when your pizza is on its way and who is bringing it to you.

It is, in short, amazing.

We ordered two Timmys: one with a thin, foldable crust, and the other with a thick, deep dish crust. Mmmm. And of course, as has become tradition, special instructions were along the lines of, "Serenade us, please!"

And the wait began. We watched the computer screen in suspense as it notified us of the adventures our Timmys were having. Finally...

"GUYS! TIMMY IS COMING! AND OUR PIZZA DELIVERY EXPERT'S NAME IS DANIEL!"

We all scrambled around the house for all the extra change we could find. Daniel is a man's name. This is promising for the prospect of a serenade... last time our delivery expert was a girl. And she did not even mention our request for a serenade. She just kind of sniffed disdainfully at our choice in pizza. But Daniel? Not a familiar name. This is promising! We separated our pile of random coins and dollar bills into regular tip and serenade tip. You can't blame us for getting our hopes up. Once the tip was assembled, we all watched out the window in eager anticipation.

Finally... a Domino's car parked in front of our house.

"Eee! Pizza car!"

"I can't see, is he good looking?"

"I can't tell from here! Can you see him? Does he look like the sort of guy that would sing?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I think he's cute though, but the window is too dark!"

We clamored around, unable to wait. Finally, the pizza delivery expert Daniel got out of the car with Timmys in hand. And walked up our sidewalk trying to surpress a grin.

"Guys, I think he's going to sing! He can hardly contain himself!"

"Eeeeeeeeeee!!!"

We opened the door.

"Uh hi," said Daniel. "Are there any guys here?"

"... No," we replied.

"DANG IT!" he exclaimed, handing us our precious Timmys. "I was hoping for some back up." He moved into serenade position. "Okay, so I thought of the most romantic song I know..."

And with that, he burst into song.

LOUD song. Head tilted back and guitar stance and everything.

"Just a small town girl... living in a LONELY WORLD..." And with that he continued. And he was into it. Three minutes, he goes into a guitar solo... after which he confesses that he doesn't know the rest. We don't care. The six of us burst into applause, and say, "Hold on, we need to get you a bigger tip!" We scrounge around the house for even more tip than we had originally planned... We ended up handing the guy nearly ten dollars in smalls bills and coins... which is nearly a 40% tip. But hey, he deserved it. And after he left, we mourned over our observation that he was married while we enjoyed Timmy. But oh, Timmy was good.

*If any of you are Facebook friends with me, I've been tagged in a video of our pizza guy serenade and you can watch the bit that we caught on camera. It was amazing. Although it was a million times more exciting in person than it is on tape. :D

Extra Story Bits

Well, I just finished the school week. Yesssss. Three-day weekend. Thank goodness. I have one random story to tell about, which is totally disconnected to anything in any way. And it's not to be taken seriously in the least bit. Mostly it is for my own entertainment. Here it is...

I remember the good old days in Robison. I miss Rachel and Hillary, and our endless talk of perfect men named Tod (tall, dark, and ominous) who could hiccup ominously, or perhaps be invisible. And I especially remember when the snowstorms came. I hopped up on Ashley's bed to look out at 9th East as the cars whizzed by and the snow fell down happily. Rachel came to join me... and genius that she is, she noticed an obvious thing that probably isn't obvious to the normal population.

"Some guy needs to go out into the suicide lane, right next to that manhole. And serenade us. And if he could get a piano out there too, that would be even better." And of course, she was right. It was perfect. We were on the second story, so it was almost like a balcony (almost...) and there's nothing that says love like running into the suicide lane as traffic whizzes by just to sing to you.

So, every time there was a snow storm, Rachel and I would run to my bedroom window and look out the window expectantly. Except none of the guys we knew had this genius (yet quite possibly insane) idea to run out into the suicide lane and serenade the ladies of 126 during any of the many snowstorms we had. Lame. We determined that the probability of us being serenaded in any way was probably around 0.001%. Not very good odds. I mean, none of us had boyfriends. None of us wanted boyfriends. And there's this stupid thing about today's society. Nobody gets serenaded unless there's a little somethin' somethin' goin' on between serenader and serenadee, or said serenader wishes there were. And then there's the issue of said serenader's lacking self confidence in singing skill required for said serenading.

Which is not so cool, I think. You know those lists of things we all have of stuff we need to do before we die? Yes, I'm sure you all have one... Well, among other things like getting married, being the bestest mother and wife ever, going skydiving, conquering my fear of sliding down stair rails, and such -- right in the middle, is one little innocent item. Be serenaded. And I'm not the only one. 'Tis a fairly common thing, I think, even if it isn't consciously on a lot of girls' lists. Subconsciously -- I think it's there on the vast majority of all of them.

But it doesn't really matter, because no one serenades because they think they can't sing. That's true for a lot of people. But honestly, there are really only three situations.

One, you can sing like Michael Bublé. In that case, no worries. You have nothing to be embarrassed about, and your serenadee will love you forever and ever for it. No problems. Unfortunately, this situation applies to a very small population. Dang.

Two, you really can't sing very well at all, but in your egotistical mind you think you are dang talented. Um, hate to say it, but if this is case, don't do any serenading. You can kind of tell the difference between people who know they suck and people who don't. People who don't know are a lot harder to listen to... and people who do know they aren't very good can turn it into a very funny situation.

Which takes us to case three (and I believe this is the case for most of the people I know): you don't have any incredible singing talent, and you know it. Well, in that case, it's still safe to serenade. As long as your intended serenadee has a sense of humor. Then it would just be plain hilarious. And memorable. And then your serenadee can cross "Be serenaded" off that list of theirs and love you forever and ever for it. A warning though -- if your intended serenadee has no sense of humor you'll just embarrass yourself. :D

When we were looking for places to live, and we came to look at Monticello last semester, we immediately noticed the stairs inside the apartment. And, if you can't see the obvious, having your very own personal set of stairs doubles your chances of being serenaded. (True, that only means our chances are 0.002% now, but still... I think that is a significant improvement from 0.001%.)

'Twas a Tuesday night, and, as on all Tuesday nights, I was exhausted beyond all reason. I came home with sore legs and feet from dancing for a few straight hours. And none of had been serenaded even once the whole term. It was definitely time for something fun. And that something fun was the planned Relief Society social. Jackie, Ingrid, Rachelle and I set off to the Granary parking lot -- apparently we were going to watch a movie there. Except when we stepped outside and looked up at the sky...

Dark, dark clouds. Uber wind. And the bizarre thing was, it was fairly warm still. Oh well. Might as well as go to the beginning even if there is a storm coming... I mean, you can't just pass up an opportunity for free food like that. It's a Relief Society function in a single student ward. There should be goodies. Should be. Except when we showed up... we came to discover that it was canceled.

Needless to say, we were disappointed. Not that we really wanted to watch a movie or meet new people or anything, just that we had been stoked for food. The four of us dejectedly walked back to our apartment. And then Ingrid started it.

"I really want pizza."

The other three of us gasped/choked/smiled in agreement with a unanimous "Yesss!!!"

"Don't we have a Domino's flyer magnet somewhere with coupons?" Oh yes, we did. I had thoughtfully put the coupons on the fridge for easy access in case of future craving emergencies (A house full of girls = high high high likelihood for random cravings for random, yummy, really-not-so-good-for-you things...). I got it immediately, and looked at the coupons, but then I realized -- "GUYS! It's 2x Tuesday!" Two large pizzas. Four girls with cravings. Yessssss.

I looked back down at our flyer magnet thing. The coupons were worthless now... You couldn't take two deals at once. But then I saw... "Try ordering online!" written in big red letters. Hmmm... ordering pizza online? That's new...

But it was an adventure of sorts to be had. I brought my computer downstairs and went to dominos.com... and it was glorious. Within seconds the four of us were all ordering pizza. And it was like there were too many options. We chose what sort of crust, and then the size. The toppings form was easy and beautiful. We just clicked the toppings we wanted (whole pizza, only left side, or only right side) and then how much (light, normal, or heavy). And then we ordered. Then there was a little option I noticed...

"Any special instructions for the delivery expert?"

Well, no serious ones. But I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. We typed in, "Serenade will earn extra tip." And then the order was complete.

We were then taken to a page with a meter on it. And basically... we were informed immediately when each step of the pizza-making process what complete -- when the pizza had been made, when it had been put it the oven, when it had come out of the oven, when it was put in a box, and then when it was on its way to our house. It was divine. The four of us waited in eager anticipation. And most of the anticipation was for pizza... but then there was the thought that maybe the delivery man had enough guts to sing us something. Even Mary Had a Little Lamb would have sufficed.

Within twenty minutes of placing our order, our doorbell rang. We answered and stood there eagerly. Nathan, the pizza guy, shuffled his shoes nervously. "Am I sposed ta sing or sumthin?" Well, to the say the least, Nathan did not want to sing anything, claiming he didn't know any songs. We gave him a normal sized tip and he left. And the pizza was good. But it would have been better accompanied by a serenade.

Alas.