Piggyback Serenades Among Other Birthday Surprises.

Saturday I turned nineteen. And it was one of the strangest birthdays I've ever had. No, no. Reword that. It was the strangest birthday I've ever had. I... don't even know where to start. It was interesting. It was a little scary. And yet it was probably the most fun I've had in a long time. Rachelle claims that this whole experience is... not put-into-words-able. I hope to prove her wrong. And this will probably be very long, but I hope it is entertaining. Or something.

A note on Michael first. He confuses me a little. Everything he does it so weird, unconventional, and often socially unacceptable, but somehow... still cool. I have no adjectives to describe him. Rachelle agrees. Somehow all these really, really strange things he does and says are somehow endearing. Just because he is constantly hyperactively operating, I think. He has so many surprises to throw at you... and it's like... I don't know... free entertainment? He just never stops. I don't know. I've never had such difficulty writing about someone. I'll write a paragraph, look back at it, and realize, No, no. That can't be right. That makes him sound just down right creepy. But he's not creepy. And then I try and fix it and it doesn't work... Whatever. This is my best try.

Thursday night, Michael came over (surprise surprise). I was sitting in the living room, and Ingrid was in the kitchen with the door closed. Our doorbell for our kitchen entry rang. I didn't move. I didn't feel like getting up and talking to people. Ingrid apparently was feeling the same way, and didn't answer the door either. When no one opened the door, we heard an insistent knock. Another pause. Ingrid finally answered.

There is a vent in the door between our kitchen and living room, so I could hear everything that was going on. Michael asked if I was home. Ingrid told him I was in the living room, and before I knew it he was sitting on the couch with me asking about my plans for the weekend.

Hm. Weekend? I thought, and answered, "Well... I don't really have any plans. We do have cleaning checks Saturday morning."

"Well, that's not very exciting."

"I know, and I feel like I should do something exciting, since it's my birthday and --" Oops. Shouldn't have let that slip.

"It's your BIRTHDAY?" Michael's eyes suddenly had this crazy glint in them. And it was really frightening. And I began to fear for my poor birthday. I could see plans starting to formulate in his mind behind his eyes.

"Yeah," I said sheepishly. "On Saturday."

Michael continued staring at me with that crazy glint in his eye, and an almost evil grin. "RACHELLE?!?!" he suddenly yelled.

Upstairs, Rachelle heard her name and answered, "Is that Michael?"

"MAYBE!!!" he yelled playfully.

"Oh! What do you want?"

"I NEED YOU!"

And with that I was shoved upstairs and Rachelle came down to conspire against me with Michael. Well, I could kind of hear them, but no actual words, so I busied myself by cleaning my room. Maybe if I cleaned I wouldn't have to think about it. Honestly, birthdays aren't a big deal for me. I don't really expect gifts. I just like being with the people that come with the gifts. And I like surprises. Just not when I know they're coming. "NO LISTENING!" Since I wasn't even trying to eavesdrop, I didn't answer. But I didn't hear them talking anymore after that. Then, at one point, I heard them go outside to discuss my fate. I could feel the beginnings of terror looming in my insides. Just don't think about it, Jenna. Don't think. There's nothing you can do about it anymore.

I was eventually called down, and we watched videos on YouTube with my computer together. Except I noticed that there was now a word document open on that little bar at the bottom of my screen. I looked sideways at Michael and then Rachelle. I had a little glint of hope that perhaps I could see what their connivings for me were, but after another hour passed on the computer the logical side of my brain told me that it was probably a planted fake conversation. After planning a surprise like that, wouldn't you be kind of paranoid about leaving evidence? And even if you did carelessly leave your conversation on my computer, after using it for an hour, you'd probably notice that you left it open and desperately get rid of it before the recipient of said surprise saw the evidence.

At midnight, Michael left, and Rachelle went to bed. I looked at it. First line said, "How about we take her to LA?" The terror came back instantly. And then, 'mid-freak-out, the logical extremist side of my brain tickled the back of mind to get my attention again.

"They wouldn't do that," it said. "That's too expensive a birthday surprise for poor college students. Besides, they aren't stupid enough to leave that on your computer that long. They left this on purpose, to throw you off." With a little more convincing, the logical extremist portion of my brain had restored my sanity, and then I was left to wonder about my fate again.

Friday went by slowly. I cleaned for a few hours, got tired of that. Stayed up until midnight just to say that I had been conscious for the dawn of my nineteenth birthday. And then I zonked out around 1am. I woke up again around 8am, and didn't get out of bed. I just laid there, meditating or something, I guess, until my little sister called me around nine to wish me a happy birthday. She passed the phone around until I had talked to my whole family, and then I finally got up and started to super clean the kitchen. As I walked in, I blinked. Wow, Rachelle hauled some trash in here last night. Well, I cleaned and I cleaned and I cleaned. And then Rachelle came home, and then we both cleaned and we cleaned and we cleaned. Cleaning inspections started at eleven. A little past eleven, someone knocked on our door, but it wasn't an inspector or a landlord. It was Michael.

"Happy, happy birthday, Jenna dear!" he sang, Primary style.

"Hello!" I said, sponge in hand. He looked disappointedly at it.

"You still cleaning?"

"Yes."

"You're always cleaning." He came in. Looked at our kitchen. And looked a little awed. He went back to his apartment to make his cleaner. Rachelle went with him to teach him how to line the stove with aluminum foil. And then she came back.

"Jenna! They're going to check our vents!"

"WHAT? That wasn't on the list!"

"They're checking Michael's!"

Dang. Well, cleaning the vents while they were attached to the walls was a strange endeavor. So Michael came, and took the vents off the wall. The screws that were holding them in were interesting... and Michael was so excited he got to use his tools. (He's a construction management major... so he has pretty much every tool imaginable AND he knows how to use them skillfully.) Well, after we scrubbed our vents clean and replaced them, I was hungry. I fixed myself a makeshift leftover lunch with mushrooms and sausage (mmm) and then, finally, the landlady came over to check everything. I shuffled my feet in the kitchen nervously. She started by saying, "All right. I'll start by checking the part that everyone always fails."

She went straight for the wall behind the oven. Felt it. And then turned back to look at me with a surprised look on her face. "But you've done an excellent job..." That's right. I spent hours on that wall alone. The grease buildup on it took forever to get off. I don't think anyone had gotten through that layer of grease and dirt and food splatter for years.

And then she continued through our kitchen and checked everything. And everything passed instantly. "Good job," she said. "This is the cleanest apartment in all of Red Brick." And I'm not going to lie, but that ushered in a bubble of pride. Cleanest in Red Brick. Finally. The landlady left, and I sighed in relief. Beat that. BEAT THAT.

Jackie usually gets asked on dates first, before the rest of us. And Rachelle tagged along once, and reported that she spread vicious gossip that I was messy and untidy and that I never cleaned. No. No, Jackie. I am convinced she doesn't know how to clean. She wimpishly wipes things. If she has to use any muscle whatsoever to get something off, she stops. And she only uses paper towels. All she does is spread germs around, not get them off or kill them. And I could go on, but I shan't. Suffice it to say that when she's grown up and married and her children get sick more often than mine due to lack of cleanth -- it won't be my fault. I've tried to teach her cleanliness and it isn't working.

I went to take a shower, and decided that since it was my birthday, I was allowed to have as long a shower as I wanted. The hot water was luxurious. I came out to hear a clamor in the kitchen, so I shut myself in my room and blow-dried my hair. Got dressed. Made myself pretty. Well, it was my birthday, after all. Who doesn't want to look nice on their birthday? But then Michael yelled up at me to come down. "JENNA! We have cake batter bowls for you to lick and presents to open!!!" Presents? Hm. Presents. I hoped that I wouldn't have anything useless. But I was excited to lick some bowls.

I came down to see Michael in an apron in my kitchen. He presented two bowls two lick. One was vanilla batter. The other was German chocolate. And he and Rachelle looked pleased. Kristen, my return-missionary neighbor (she went to Hong Kong), had also come over.

"Two cakes?"

"We marbled them. One is golden vanilla marbled with German chocolate, and the other is German chocolate marbled with golden vanilla." Hm. I had wanted a marbled cake. I hadn't told him though. I had told Rachelle.

There were two presents sitting happily on the table. One was very small, wrapped in tin foil. That was from Kristen. I opened it and found the tiniest book I'd ever seen, entitled, "The Paper Bag Princess." Now, I believe every girl should have this in their collection, and also every father's daughter. I also believe that every father should read it to his daughters as a bedtime story. It's short, and it's cute, and it's good.

Basically, a princess named Elizabeth is about to marry a prince Ronald. Except then a dragon comes, eats pretty much everyone in the whole castle, burninates her clothes, and whisks away her Ronald. Elizabeth then proceeds to look for something to wear, but finds nothing but a paper bag. She puts that on, and then decides to rescue her prince from the dragon. She finds the dragon and tricks him by taking advantage of his pride. He burns all the forests everywhere to show off until he's out of fire, and then flies around the world a couple times at supersonic speed to show off. Then the dragon passes out and Elizabeth finally gets to save Ronald... except then... we found out Ronald is a jerk. He takes a look at her, complains that she is greasy and ashy and sweaty and only wearing a paper bag, and tells her to come back later when she's dressed like a real princess. Well, Elizabeth tells him he's a bum and then leaves him there. And they didn't get married. What a happy ending, I think.

Then I opened Michael's present. It was wrapped in newspaper. I ripped that layer off. And then found it was wrapped in duct tape. Well, I got vicious, ripped that off. Another layer of duct tape? Graaawwrr!!! I ripped that off too. There was a garbage bag box, then. I opened that, found a whole bunch of newspaper in there. I ripped that out. And then, wrapped in aluminum foil and electrical tape, was a DVD shaped package. I ripped off the foil and found, wrapped in a grocery store bag... The Incredibles. Michael had gotten me a movie? He'd spent that much on me for a present? Not to mention that he had already provided the cake mixes and everything. (And also, apparently, he'd been fixing our kitchen drawers while I'd been in the shower.) But I did really, really like that movie, and thus expressed my delight.

"Let's watch it tonight," said Michael. I agreed that that was a good idea. And then he said playfully, grinning largely, "Well, we have an activity planned for you!"

"What?"

"Roadtrip! We're going to LA!"

The logical extremist in my head passed out at that point (how could I have been wrong?) and I gasped, "WHAT?"

Then Michael laughed mischievously. "No, we're just going hiking." The logical extremist in my head woke up again, checked out, and checked into a hospital.

"Oh," I said, weakly, and honestly, in relief.

He looked very pleased with himself. "Hehe, did you see that word document that we left you?"

"Yes," I said. "But I thought it was fake."

He looked disappointed. "You did?"

"Yeah... remember, you were using my computer for an hour afterwards. If you really had been absent-minded enough to leave that open, you would have seen it, and deleted it frantically. So I decided it must have been fake."

"Ohhh..." Well, Michael went to get his hiking bag, we all filled up water bottles for ourselves, and we left to go hiking in Rock Canyon. Once we were in Michael's car, he insisted on opening the whole adventure with a prayer so we didn't get killed while driving over. We got up to the trail head and started hiking. He even carried my water bottle for me so I didn't have to do that. Michael was keen to find beautiful spots and insisted that we take pictures every time we found one.

We were having really random conversation. At some point he wanted to know -- "Jenna. If you could have any superpower, what would it be?"

Well, of course I knew exactly which one. "Time manipulation," I said instantly.

"Reeaally?" He looked delighted. "I've thought about that extensively!!!"

Double take. You have? Usually when I answer that I would want time manipulation, of all things, people give me a funny look, consider it for a few seconds, comment that they've never thought of it before, and then move on to a different question.

"In fact," he said, "that's why my Gmail name is timelore." He went on to explain about games he had played when he was little about being a wizard named Timelore. I listened for a while, and then decided that even though he seems to have been thinking about it his whole life about being able to manipulate time, he hadn't thought about it as in depth as I had.

[Side story. As long as I can remember, I've had a little fiction story running in my head. My main character was Amadiora (of course she's a princess -- I made her up as a little girl), and she had a major secret. She could manipulate time. She could freeze it, like Michael fantasized doing, but I thought the far more useful thing she could do was rewind it, and relive it, while no one else realizes that this is the second or the third or the hundredth time they're doing this same thing (except for a minor case of dejavu). Useful? Yes. Of course. You could get an infinite amount of work done in a small amount of time. You'd just have to make sure you did everything that needed material evidence like written homework the last time through the timeline. And just think -- if you do something really stupid on a date? Just rewind time and your date doesn't remember. Just got stabbed and you're about to bleed to death? Erase that, and then dodge as many times as you need to until you get out of that fight unscathed. And I could go on long enough to write several whole books. No, I think I've thought about it more extensively than he has. Sorry, bud.]

We found a river. Michael helped us across after Kristen suggested he put a flat rock she found under the wobbly rock in the river to stabilize it. Then he helped each of us across, and we did a mini-photo shoot. Meditating... on the rocks in the middle of the river... etcetera. It was very adventurous.

We kept going until we found a bridge. We decided that this was the perfect picnic spot. Michael put down his pack and pulled out snacks. He had oranges and bananas, as well as some Goldfish. Kristen had some carrots and potatoes. I ate some fruit and some Goldfish. Then Kristen taught me how to properly use chopsticks, and from what angle to try and grab the food from. Then we had Goldfish races in the river. We got up and continued hiking.

Before long, we got to another bridge. This time, there was a large pipe running alongside it about a meter from the edge of the bridge. About twenty feet below it rushed the river. Long drop. With rocks at the bottom. Ow. Michael hopped up onto it, started to cross... I looked over to watch him, not quite sure it was the best idea in the world. And then he froze in fear, chickened out, and then crossed the bridge with me. I gave him a funny look, without thinking, and then he stopped walking. "Ooh, that was a glare of death. Like you basically just said, 'You pathetic wimp.' I'm sorry, Jenna, I'll cross that pipe for you on the way back."

"Oh no!" That wasn't what I had been thinking at all! "You don't have to --"

"Yes, I do... yes, I do, Jenna," he responded playfully. Dang it. He probably thinks his manhood is in danger or something. He'll lose his pride if he doesn't cross it now. We kept walking until we found a cave. Michael jumped in, declared it wasn't that interesting, and then we turned around to hike back. Michael kept making nervous comments about that pipe. And finally he said, almost michievously, "Oh, I know. You could hold my hand all the way across from the edge of the bridge."

Not quite sure what to say or do, I laughed a little. It was a long drop if he fell. And I wasn't quite sure a handhold would keep him from falling. It was a really stupid idea. Really. I wasn't at all quite sure what to think about this, so I just let myself be overwhelmed by the comicality of the situation. "And then your pride and your life would still be intact?" I laughed again.

"And my humility, since I'd have your help!"

Hm. I'm not exactly sure what's going on... "Okay, okay... whatever..." I said, mid-laugh.

Then he reached over and for a split second he put his arm around my waist. I had barely enough time to screw up my face into my "Holy crud, what are you doing and why?" face before he had already leapt back and was now regarding me with terror.

"What?" I demanded.

"You're... you're not ticklish!" He said it in an awed, horribly hushed, yet definitely playful, voice.

"No. No, I'm not."

"How can you not be ticklish?" he stammered in disbelief.

"I'm just not."

"Are you ticklish anywhere?"

... Hm. I don't think so. I thought. At one point Rachel grabbed my neck and I freaked out, so I had thought I was ticklish there. But no, alas. She tried it again later, and we discovered that I really wasn't. Sad day. "No, nowhere."

Michael looked so disappointed.

But then we got to the pipe. Michael took a deep breath, hopped onto it... and started to cross. Inch by inch. And thankfully, he never reached over for my hand, because it was a little far, and would have compromised his balance if he had. (Phew! Got out of that one!) And for once, he was absolutely silent. Inch. Inch. It seemed he was concentrating very hard. I would be too. That was a loooong drop. Inch. Inch. Finally, after about a minute, he got to the other side. And suddenly he was alive again. "Yeeaaahhhh!!! I got my manhood back! Whooo!!!" And he was giving everyone high-fives like he had just saved the world or something. I laughed a bit more, and I'm not sure why. I was amazed at his stupidness and impressed at his bravery at the same time. And confused too.

"Wow," he said. And then he looked at me. "I don't even know why I just did that."

I laughed a little. Usually when a guy does such tremendously stupid things like that...

"Oh well. I wasn't thinking about it. When you do stupid stuff, you can't think about it. You just have to do it."

And with that we walked some more. And then Michael started picking up these mongo rocks and hurling them into the river. Except he missed with one of them, and it didn't quite make it over the edge of the hill... so Michael, Kristen, Rachelle, and I start throwing rocks at that stubborn mongo rock with the sole goal of getting it over the hill into the river. We probably spent ten minutes throwing rocks... at a rock. I hit that blasted rock several times, but never with enough force to move it. And I was throwing fairly heavy rocks too. Michael finally hurled another mongo rock into it, and both mongo rocks went toppling into the river. We celebrated. Four-way high fives!

And we walked back some more... and every once in a while, I'd realize that Kristen and Rachelle were far behind us, and I was pretty much walking alone with Michael. Hm... I came to later find out that they were doing it on purpose (curses!)... because apparently, they couldn't help it. ("Let's walk slower!" Kristen would whisper to Rachelle. "Okay!" Rachelle would whisper back.) We finally got back to the paved road, and were getting closer to the car.

"All right, someone has to have a piggyback ride!" announced Michael at his most playful after a discussion about what he'd do if he were a scout camp leader. "It's tradition!" What? Piggyback ride? Tradition?

"I'll carry your pack and you can give someone a ride," Kristen told him. Don't encourage him! Ahh!

But Rachelle. Dearest dearest Rachelle. "Michael! I'll give you a piggyback ride!"

This was obviously not what Michael had in mind when he said someone had to have a piggyback ride. At all. But Rachelle insisted. And insisted. And finally...

Michael hopped on, unsure of what he was doing. "Waaah!" chortled Rachelle. Michael's eyes were open kind of wide, and he was laughing his distinctive and outrageous laugh. And Rachelle was trying so hard to carry him. Some of the people behind us started to laugh and take pictures of the two of them, because it WAS a ridiculous sight.

Teeny little Rachelle. Tall Michael. Teeny little Rachelle carrying tall Michael = hilarious. But Rachelle couldn't carry him very far, and Michael got off quickly. Then he dashed in front of me and announced mischievously, "Your turn!"

Oh. Hm. "Come on, get on!" he insisted, in his happiest voice.

Gaah! I thought. I'm terrified of heights. I'm even more terrified of falling. And I'm not sure I trust this Michael not to drop me. Well, I guess if Rachelle gave him a piggyback ride -- whatever. Whatever. I hopped on. And instantly regretted it. You know those moments when you're filled with terror for no good reason? Where you feel your stomach migrating to your toes and your brains falling into where your stomach used to be? Yeah. I like having my two feet on the ground. A lot. And whatever made me think a piggyback ride was going to help me conquer my fear of heights was definitely wrong.

"Ah!" I said. That exclamation was followed by another and another and another, each more terrified than the last, and my eyes were shut tight.

Michael exclaimed happily, "You're lighter than my pack!" And lifted me higher up until I was almost at his shoulders. "Ah!" I responded.

He kept walking. And then... he started singing. "Good morning beautiful..." Tenor. First tenor. "How was your niiiight..." Fine, thank you. ... And, hold the phone, are you honest-to-goodness singing to me? "Mine was wonderful, with you holding me tiiiight..."

And then I realized just how tightly I was holding on. Not just tight. Really tight. Really, really, really tight. Well, I was terrified. I wonder if that was a good enough excuse? Whatever. Whatever. I just need to survive until he puts me down. Which for me meant holding on as tightly as I could. Survive. I will survive.

Well, I wasn't yelping "Ah!" anymore because I was busy listening to him sing. I curiously opened my eyes to look over at Kristen and Rachelle. They were talking to each other, and kept glancing over at Michael and me and then grinning. I shut my eyes again. Nope, not singing to them. And he sings to himself a lot, but I don't think "Good Morning Beautiful" is the sort of song he would sing to himself, especially with a girl on his back. Okay, so perhaps a piggyback serenade is unconventional. And although he wasn't particularly good, and he was a tenor instead of a bass, and was flat the whole time, he was confident enough to keep the tune and still enjoy it. So... I mentally crossed off "Be serenaded" off my list of things to do before I died.

(Booyah, Rachel. Booyah. I win. Except he wasn't a bass. Still have "Be serenaded by a bass or baritone" to cross off... We'll save that one for random pizza delivery guys, or dashing men who are tall, dark, and ominous. Yes. That's right. Who got serenaded first? Me! Okay. I'm done.) I had just kind of been hoping that I would be in a situation where I could concentrate on enjoying the serenade when it happened instead of irrationally fearing for my life.

I was silent until he stopped singing. He then asked if I wanted down. "Yes," I answered weakly. He put me down. I wobbled a little, and then started walking again on my own. Yikes. Glad to be down. And then we walked back to the car, and went back home.

Then it was decided that we needed to frost the two marble cakes. I decided that I wanted chocolate buttercream frosting. Mmm. I started making it, and got to use my happy little alien mixer that my daddy sent me for my birthday. Then my phone rang. But it wasn't the usual ring -- it was the ring that meant I had voicemail. Whhaaaat? That shouldn't happen unless someone called me first!

So I popped out my phone and looked at the missed alerts. Two missed calls! And a voicemail. The voicemail and one of the missed calls was Kathwren. The other was Ryan. The message basically said, "It's your birthday and you're not answering your phone. How rude." So I called her first.

Kathwren and everyone else in the Burchfield's van sang me a ginormous happy birthday. I laughed. It was amazing. Sister Burchfield was probably driving, but I got to talk to her, kind of. I could barely hear her. Don't worry, Sister Burchfield. I'll be home soon. June 20th. It's a Friday. I should be home home by evening time. After I talked to everyone or nearly everyone in the van, the call ended.

Then I returned my other missed call from Ryan. And he got to be the lucky one, because I was still talking to him when Michael, Kristen, and Rachelle were done frosting the cake, so he got live birthday celebration commentary. For lack of candles, Michael had arranged a bunch of matches in a "19" design on the cake. We had to carry the cake outside to light the matches because we weren't allowed to burn anything inside the apartment. And when the first match lit...

Zschoom, zschoom, zschoom! The flames ran across the numbers quickly, and the flame licked up into the air about three inches. My goodness. I'm supposed to blow that out? Yikes! I blew. It took some windpower to get it out, but that's okay. It had been a spectacle. We ate cake, while people socialized in the kitchen.

When I hung up, Kristen wanted to know who I was talking to. "Oh, Ryan. Good friend from my last ward."

Michael heard and blinked. "It wasn't your family? Oh. And you talked to him for that long? Woooow..." Hm. Poor guy seemed a little concerned, like he perceived a threat... haha. Although the thought made me stifle a laugh, I ignored it and enjoyed cake, cake, and more cake.

Then Michael left temporarily to do some economics homework, and Rachelle and I went to the store to buy a bit of food. We came back, tidied up a little, and then Michael came back over to watch the Incredibles.

We watched it, and Michael ate scads of popcorn and Rachelle and I ate scads of the flavored Tootsie Rolls. In the middle of the movie, my phone rang. Someone loves me!

I answered. Patrice! Well, Patrice and Jackie Bodily (not my roommate Jackie) were going to come visit me. Yay! I was really excited. Patrice hugs are the best. You can't have a birthday without a Patrice hug. When she showed up...

Patrice and Jackie sang Happy Birthday, and presented me with another cake. This would be my third cake. But it looked good -- chocolate cake with chocolate frosting with "Happy Birthday" written in caramel glaze. I was delighted. We talked for a bit. After they left, Michael mourned that he made a very bad first impression and that they thought he was a major weirdo. Haha. Probably.

When the movie was over, we were happy people... it really is such a good movie. And then suddenly, Michael went for the tickle again.

And again, not immediately recognizing his advances at tickle-attempts, I just gave him my weirded out "What the heck?" look. "Oh... I forgot you're not ticklish." Yes. Not ticklish. "Nowhere?" I shook my head.

And then he got down... and pulled off my sneakers with another mischievous look. "What... are... you... doing...?" I wanted to say, but it didn't actually come out.

He touched the bottom of my foot. I glared. "You're not even ticklish on your feet!" he said. "And I thought I was being so clever, too..."

Oh, is that what you were doing. He looked very disappointed. And a little lost.

Then we would talk some more, and then randomly he'd jab me in the side, hoping that I was ticklish there. All right, I had enough of just sitting here being jabbed. My hand shot out at his core for a vicious tickle. Let's teach him a lesson...

Except that wasn't the best place to try and jab. It was like jabbing rock... I remembered him commenting about his eight pack earlier during the hike... I had assumed he had been joking. Apparently I was wrong. So I jabbed his sides, tickling with mother-like efficiency (no one tickles quite like your mother, it's true).

He squealed. I wondered if this hadn't been his goal the whole time... to get me to tickle him back, but I jabbed in the sides until he finally pulled his arms tight to his sides so I couldn't tickle him anymore. So I stopped. No use in trying to tickle a rock. And instead we tickled Rachelle. But when we did that, it seemed like she was dying. So we air tickled her, and she still almost died. So we stopped that.

But then Michael had an idea. He grabbed my orange fleece blanket that I had made at girls' camp a few years ago... and bolted. I gasped and my eyes widened. Oh, no you don't. My blanket! It is in peril!

Michael had run out the door. Rachelle and I bolted after him into the grass volleyball court, and gave chase. No! My blanket, my blanket! And then little Miss Logic (nearly recovered from her stay at the hospital earlier that day) who lives in the back of my head, said, "You know, this is only a ploy, perhaps a subconscious one, to get a couple of girls to chase after him." I thought back, "Yeah. Yeah. Probably..." and then I thought. "Crud. I can't believe I gave into that."

But then I heard the blood-curdling scream of my poor blanket, "Jenna! Save me! A strange man has me! Save meeeeee!!!" And after a plea like that, you kind of have to go save your damsel, I mean blanket, in distress. At one point I nearly body-slammed him... but then he saw my proximity and threw the blanket over the net... dashing underneath to catch it...

And he missed. The blanket hit the ground. He yelled in horror and frustration as angel Rachelle immediately grabbed it and dashed for home. She ran as fast as she could with her injured knee... but Michael gave pursuit and was gaining on her. "Rachelle! Get the blanket in one of our bedrooms! If goes in there, he'll spontaneously combust!" (It's true. The BYU Honor Code forbids him to enter our bedrooms.)

But Michael was so close! I rammed him.

He was thrown off track for a few seconds, but it would have to be enough. Rachelle dashed into our apartment, Michael on her tail, and I on his. She ran up the stairs, but only one at a time... Michael ran up the stairs after her. Three at a time. And Rachelle was nearly up top, when he tackled her. She screamed shrilly enough to stop anyone's heart as she fell, tossing my blanket into her room in one last desperate attempt to save it.

"Noooo!!!" yelled Michael.

Blanket was safe. Past the doorway at least. I leapt over the tangled mess that was Michael and Rachelle trying to stand up without hurting themselves and pushed the blanket deeper into the room so that he couldn't reach it from the doorway. And then it was victory for the girls. Success. (Although I'm sure it was the chase Michael wanted more than the blanket itself, so I guess, in a way, he also won...) Michael, Rachelle, blanket, and I all panted for our breath. Blanket wheezed a few thank you's and we went back downstairs.

We sat back down on the couch to regain our breath, I with a cup of water in hand. Then Michael asked, "You know how I crack eggs?"

No. "On the knee. Like this." He took his hand, hovering it over my knee. "And then you crack it!" He hit my knee. "And then you just let it ooze..." And he let his fingers spread out from the center of my knee like they were oozing.

Confused, I just furrowed my eyebrows, gave him a weird look, and said, "You crack eggs on your knee?"

He blinked at me, again looking disappointed. "You're not even ticklish on your knee!"

I shook my head. I can't even tell when he's trying to tickle me, dang it.

He paused. "Are you sure that when they put titanium rods in your back they didn't damage your tickle nerve?"

I shook my head, but didn't say anything. I remember being ticklish when I was little. But after not, not so much.

I then decided to check my email for any birthday wishes. But no one had sent me anything. In fact, the last email I got was Ryan's little commentary that the pizza delivery expert, Nathan, was spineless. Michael noticed this.

"Ryan again? Gee, he's popular or something..." said Michael playfully.

"Hm, yes. He's pretty much my favorite person ever," I answered. And with that, Michael's face fell, and for a split instant, he appeared to be heartbroken. But then a split second later, he had hidden that and his face was a calm blank. (Rachelle can testify this is true. His visible pain was, sadly, very entertaining, though.) Perceiving a threat, he had to know more. "Is he from Arizona?" "No... California." "How old is he?" I laughed and explained he was only my age and thus was going on his mission to Australia soon. And suddenly Michael was happy again. I stifled another laugh. Haha. Michael had seriously thought I'd been taken or something. I decided not to clarify any further. Let Michael fear.

We watched a few videos on YouTube for the rest of the night, and then he left.

Rachelle had gone to bed a little earlier before Michael left, and I really didn't feel like climbing up into a bunk, so I turned off the light and curled up on the couch. Then Rachelle came down again.

She sat on the smaller couch, and said, "Jenna. I want thoughts on Michael."

"You mean my thoughts?"

"Yes."

Hm. In other words, she wanted to know if I liked him, but wasn't actually going to ask. "Michael is interesting," I replied. "And kind of scary. And really weird..." And really playful. And really surprising.

We sat in the dark, talking to each other. It wasn't like most girl talks I'd ever had. We'd spend a minute talking. Then it would drop off into confused, thoughtful silence the next. Both of us agreed that it was probably the most exciting day of either of our lives. It also worried me. I was confused about a lot of things, as was Rachelle.

Rachelle lamented, "I'm jealous. I want a boy..."

I laughed quietly. "You can have Michael!"

She laughed too, also quietly. "No, but he's taken now." (... No, he's not.) She shook her head a little. "Jenna, you're gong to have to give me lessons on picking up guys!"

"I'm not doing it on purpose!" I countered. Which would make lessons hard, would it not? I'm not at all trying to get guys. In fact, I'm nearly, but not quite, on the verge of avoiding such attention. But alas, I've been noticed and there's nothing I can do about it.

For the past week I've been trying to convince myself Michael doesn't like me, but now I don't think I honestly can pull such a major self-convincing denial job off. It is probably (most probably) true. Which means I will probably worry about it for ages. I honestly don't like being liked that much. It scares me and I don't like the unnatural level of attention. Whatever. Whatever! I shan't think about it.

We sat in silence for a while, and then Rachelle went upstairs to bed. I laid on the couch in darkness. And I stared at the ceiling for a few hours until I finally fell asleep.

The End. (How was that, Rachelle? Satisfactory?)

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.

Whatever Happened to Lying Low?

So I'm writing because I did say I'd tell about that date I had last week. I know I did tell a few of you who asked about it briefly, but honestly -- I don't remember who exactly I've told anything to! And this is a tad long. Apologies in advance.

Well, I wasn't sure Michael had even asked me on a date and if or when he would come get me. And it was Friday night. And... my kitchen is absolutely disgusting. Okay. So, I'm not going to lie... I cleaned for a mighty three hours straight. I pulled out the cupboards and oven and cleaned behind there, mopped, scrubbed the floor to get the stuff the mop wouldn't get. I pulled the burner rings out and cleaned the stove like crazy go nuts. I got everything. Almost anyway.

I was waiting for the wet floor to dry when my doorbell rang. I was all grungy from cleaning, and I had pretty much forgotten about the prospect of a date. But when I opened the door to see Michael there... I remembered.

"Heeey!" he said.

"Hi," I said. I kind of shuffled my feet a little on my clean floor. I really am very grungy.

"Do you have any movies?"

"Uhhh... I have two... Mulan and Enchanted. And Jackie has The Terminal."

"How long has it been since you've seen Mulan?"

"A while."

"How long is a while? Like, a month a while, or a year a while?"

"A month a while."

"Oooh, that's not very long, is it..." And he drifted off into thought. But Jackie was in the living room, and was apparently eavesdropping.

"Oh, that's okay! We watch Enchanted almost every day!" And it was true... Jackie somehow convinced him that he needed to see Enchanted, and we decided we'd watch it.

Except then Michael said, "Actually, you wanna play Mario Kart?"

I blinked. Always wanted to, never had the chance. "If you'll teach me."

And it was agreed. So instead of staying safely at my house, he whisked me off to his house. Well, it was only a fifteen second trip at snail pace. And with that we started playing Mario Kart. We did the partner game, where he drove and I was in charge of weapons. And little by little, I picked up some weapons skill. Soon I was ramming into the neighboring cars, punching neighboring drivers in the face, throwing bombs at people, etc. Michael was rather shocked. "You're vicious!!!" He seemed a little awed. "You seem like such a sweet girl!"

Uh... thanks? I decided that the best thing to do was take that as a compliment. We had almost become the perfect team, and were coming in first nearly every time when someone else walked in the door. My heart sank all the way to the bottom of my feet. James? Ooooh, I did not like him. At all. He was in my calculus class last semester -- the one class I had everyday. He was absolutely obnoxious. And somehow he'd always get perfect homeworks and perfect tests and... well, I didn't hate him because he threw off the curve. I have no beef with smart people. What I hated was how he and his girlfriend would mock our professor. If there is one way to instantly earn my disapproval it is that. Mocking a teacher.

James came over and sat next to me. And first words out of his mouth were nasty insults to Michael. Michael responded with insults back. I decided to ignore obnoxious little James and take out my hatred on the virtual drivers in the game... Michael, however, was significantly distracted by James' presence. His driving started to suck. And, of course, James used that as another thing to make fun of him with.

Please don't be in my ward, please don't be in my ward, please don't be in my ward...

And suddenly, I realized they were brothers. They didn't look alike, and they had completely opposite personalities, but it was true. Finally Michael realized he hadn't introduced us. "Oh! Jenna! This is --"

"James. He was in my calculus class last semester."

For a moment, James shut his gob. His face clearly expressed shock and confusion. Hm, yes, you wouldn't remember me. I avoided you like the plague. And I sat in the back so people like you wouldn't see me. And I never said anything.

"Wait, with Dr. Cardon?"

"Yes."

"...Remember when I come in wearing footies once?"

"Yes, and Chelsea come in dressed as a goth."

This seemed to confirm to him that I really was in his class, and then immediately he tried to pretend that we were bestest best friends. I discouraged it.

Finally, we gave up on trying to play Mario Kart. It was time to eat. Michael's roommate had made enchiladas. And they were good. I sat at the table and happily ate my enchilada, listening to Michael babble on about Albania (that's where he went on his mission) when James said something rather inappropriate and obnoxious. I blinked. Michael didn't blink, but grabbed a foot-long knife and grinned evilly as he pointed it at his brother. James screamed like a girl and ran out of the kitchen. Michael gave chase, muttering something that was not English. I assume it was Albanian. They ran upstairs, where I could not go (that's where the bedrooms were) and could hear thumping up there. I heard James' girly screams and Michael's girly giggles. Hm. I was not quite sure what I was supposed to thinking or saying or doing.

So I just pretended like nothing out of the ordinary was going on, and calmly got myself another enchilada. They really were very good. I chewed slowly, listening every once in a while to listen for evidence that my date and his brother were both still alive. They finally came back down.

They were laughing and wrestling with each other. I don't know where the knife went. And I kind of just looked at Michael.

"Oh no! I'm so sorry! I've been wasting your time! Oh oh oh... and I forgot about dessert too!" And with that Michael pulled out a bowl (but not before flinging one at his brother like a Frisbee) and started expertly making a fruit salad.

The fruit salad pretty much redeemed him. He knew what he was doing. And he was trying to teach his little brother all his secrets, but James insisted that Michael was an idiot. Hm.

Well, Michael retaliated. He used every opportunity to prove James wrong. I suppose he was not content to leave any risk of doubt in this girl's mind that James was not credible...

"James! I'm putting the kiwis and strawberries in the fridge. What about the bananas? Do I put those in the fridge?"

James blinked. "Uhhh..." He nodded uncertainly, then shook his head no, and then oscillated back and forth until it was quite obvious that he didn't know.

In victory, Michael said, "No. They'll ripen faster that way, and then they'll go rotten. And, James, what do you do with brown bananas?"

James didn't know.

"Make banana bread," I said.

Michael was pleased. "Very good!" He pulled out the yogurt and then turned back to James.

"Acidophilus. Good? Bad?"

James blinked.

"Good," said Michael. "Does yogurt have acidophilus in it?"

James hadn't the slightest clue.

"Yes," I answered. Michael was again very pleased.

"Remember if you ever get food poisoning... you want yogurt. It had lots of acidophilus... that's the good guy bacteria that helps you digest things."

James wanted to be dumb. "But what if I'm in Antarctica? Where will I get yogurt?"

Michael didn't know what to say. So I said, "Take acidophilus supplements with you. They taste like candy. Strawberry candy."

Well, James must have felt the need to restore his coolness in my eyes. So, he changed the subject to our calculus class. And soon he got to making fun of Dr. Cardon ("He was sooo autistic!") and then...

"Oh man, Jenna. If you ever get a time machine, you need to go back to last semester and make friends with me. Then I'd let you use the answer manual!"

My insides froze. What? I kind of blinked in surprise.

James went on to brag, "Yeah. I was a TA for Calc 1, and they use the same answer manual. So all I had to do to get the answers to everything was just ask the professor for it, and he'd give it to me... Aw man. Why actually sit and think through the problems to learn calculus? I just learned it from the answer manual!"

James just lost every bit of respect I might have been desperately holding on to. I had been trying hard not to judge him. But now I didn't feel guilty about not liking him. I smiled politely. "No thanks. If I go back in time, I don't think I'll use the answer manual."

James shrugged. We finished our fruit salads. And then Michael looked at the time... "Oh no! It's eleven already! There isn't enough time to watch a full-length movie! James, what should I show her?"

Well, apparently he had a cartoon collection. He brought some of it down. I didn't recognize any of it, but I agreed to watch an episode of Trigun with him. He put it in his laptop since his roommate was using the television, and we sat on the couch to watch it. James sat between us. I didn't at all know what was going on, so I didn't laugh at the funny parts... because I hadn't the slightest clue what was going on.

After that Michael took me home. And then he said, "Sorry about wasting so much of your time... but we should do this again sometime." And then he looked straight at me. "Like tomorrow."

Um? Are you asking me on a date, or not? He left, and I was left to wonder.

Well, he never showed up the next day. That was okay though. Rachelle and I made pies... one chocolate creme pie and one lemon meringue pie.

And a different guy showed up. We heard a knock on our door, and we went to answer it.

This guy's name was also Michael. He handed me a little flier-esque piece of paper. "We're having a smoothie night tomorrow. Please come! It's gonna be good!"

I blinked and looked at the little flier. Nicely made and colorful. And he seemed nice. "Where do you live?"

"White House South. Right there." I leaned out my door and looked. Well, yes, there it was. A white house. Jackie come and inquired as to what was going on. He proceeded to invite her as well. And then we said goodbye. And with that, he left, and we were about to close the door.

But another guy had been walking by. And then he just walked in and sat down at our kitchen table.

"Uh.. hi?" we said.

"Hi, I'm Gavin. I was just walking by and I saw that I didn't know you, so I figure I'd come find out who you were. What'd Michael want?"

"Uhhh... he invited us to a smoothie party..."

"What? A smoothie party? I hadn't heard about it!" He skipped over to look at the flier. "Ohh, I see what's going on..." And then he winked. "You know why he didn't invite me?" Jackie stared blankly at him, and before I could answer -- "Because I'm a guy. And you're girls."

I thought that had been obvious, but Jackie looked like it was a revelation. She laughed politely. And with that Gavin started asking all sorts of questions. And then Gavin wanted to know if we played Frisbee. Jackie did a little, and I answered that I never had.

"Well then. Next Thursday night they're playing Frisbee as a group. You guys should come."

Jackie agreed. I kind of didn't say anything, kind of hoping I could slither out of this one, but then Gavin pointed right at me, and declared, "And we'll teach you how to play Frisbee." And with that he walked out, shut the door, and...

Jackie and I looked at each other. And with that, Jackie burst into laughter. Really loud laughter. I raised my eyebrows in panic... "Jackie!" I hissed. "That was a REALLY loud laugh!"

And indeed it was. Almost instantly, Gavin opened our door and walked back in. "Geez! You didn't even give me time to walk away! That was really loud!"

Jackie was red and tried to leave. But no luck for her.

"Nuh uh. This warrants a talk." So Jackie stayed in the kitchen, but as far away from him as possible. Gavin raised an eyebrow. "No. This is a serious matter. This is a sit down talk. He pulled out a chair for and beckoned for her to sit. She did. I turned to leave... "You too. You sit there."

Crudmonkeys. I went and sat. Gavin went and explained to us the proper amount of time in between departure of the strange/awkward/ just-plain-creepy guy and safe time for hilarious laughter. You have to give him time to walk away. Well, yes, I know. And then you don't laugh so loud. Laughter of the sort Jackie just let loose could decimate some poor guy's self esteem. Yeesh. It wasn't even me who broke the social etiquette. And here I was being schooled. Jackie was so embarrassed. He left eventually.

Sunday came. We went to church. And Michael (the one with the obnoxious kid brother) followed me around. I was about to pass him after sacrament meeting, but he stuck his leg out to trip me. I stopped and looked down at the offending leg and then looked at him with one eyebrow up. "You trying to kill me?"

He laughed (it was high pitched of course, but I am starting to notice less and less just how high it is). And we went into the common area, and he threw a paper airplane at me. It crashed almost immediately. He was so sad. But then he pulled out another one, this time better made. He presented it to me. And it flew nicely. I rather enjoyed playing with it. It's not often you get to throw paper airplanes in the testing center without getting kicked out of the school. After church, he walked Jackie and I home. No big deal, I guess.

But then, just before ward prayer, I heard Michael's distinctive laugh. I came downstairs to see him still in his suit and tie. Apparently he had been at priesthood meeting. He was telling us animatedly about it. ("Oh, and one speaker said, 'Yeah, a lot of people left for spring term, and it's getting hot, but all the hot girls staaayyyedd..." Okay, Michael, what is it that you're hinting at exactly?) He had come to walk Rachelle and I to ward prayer. All right.

On the way over, he declared that we were going to take a walk afterwards. Okay? Do we have a choice?

Well, the walk was actually very fun. We explored, something I really do like to do, except with less mindless babble going on in the background. We rolled down rape hill. And Michael showed us the grass patches. They have a lineup of about fifteen types of grass, and you can feel the differences between them with your feet. There was a couple there, and I'm afraid we may have been bothering them, but Michael was oblivious. I really hope that guy wasn't planning on proposing or anything important like that.

After that we played lava monster as we climbed up the switchbacks. We weren't allowed to touch the path, but instead we walked on the walls. We found a little alcove with vine trellises and things. I was surprised there wasn't a couple there, since it was one of those spots that looked like it was made for such a thing. We went back to playing lava monster. We got to the top. And there was a fence.

I was in front, because I was letting Rachelle and Michael do most of the talking. Which is the usual for me. I much prefer listening. Every once in a while I feel obligated to say something. Hm. I looked at the fence. And could think of no other option.

I hopped it. Michael looked delighted. "You're so fun!" Uh...okay. We started to head down the hill again. And we got to the stairs. And while I hadn't really been saying anything at all, I was overcome with an urge to slide down the stair rails. I'd been practicing. I am absolutely terrified of heights. Sliding down stair rails is like conquering an enemy. Michael was a little nervous at first. Later he ending up sliding down the entire rail. Rachelle was nervous all the way through. I, of course, was terrified. But I was conquering this enemy. I slid down the whole thing by the time we were done. My heart was pounding and I couldn't breathe well. Michael took us home.

Monday night, after FHE... well, no. We didn't get a break from attention. Rachelle and I were making happy little Frosties (like from Wendy's!) with a recipe Ryan had found and sent to us when some one knocked at our door. I recognized this guy. A couple of weeks ago I had talked to him at the ward social. I think his name was Steve. I remember him... instead of the usual reaction I get when I say I'm a neuroscience major, he instead perked up with interest. (But only for a millisecond. He quickly masked it.) He was a biochemistry major. And I remember that when I asked what he did for fun, the best answer he could think of was... chemistry. He loves chemistry, apparently.

"Uh, hi... come in?" We wanted to know why he was here. And he didn't really have an answer. Except that he figured he should at least make some effort to socialize. It was a little awkward. He seemed quite uncomfortable. Yeesh, man, if you're going to invite yourself over, at least try to be comfortable... We shared our Nesquik with him as we ate our Frosties. He talked a lot about chemistry. He left after about twenty minutes.

Rachelle gave me one of those looks, laughed, and said, "Oooh, Jenna, I think he came for you!" Dang. It was probably true. No one else had seen him before. And now, since the ward directories had just been issued, he had been able to figure out where I lived. Daaang. So much for lying low. I wasn't planning on being noticed. In fact, I was on the verge of purposefully trying not to be. But not quite.

Guuh.

Michael randomly knocked on my door tonight. I went to answer it, but I couldn't open the stupid door. Okay, so our door was replaced yesterday. It's a little weird... it jams randomly. And so I fiddled with the doorknob for the longest time. Until I heard Michael's giggle. Huh. What do you want? It's like... nine. "Sorry! I can't open the door!"

I finally got it open.

Michael was laughing. Hard. When he finally got his breath back and composed himself, he stood up and asked, "You wanna go get milkshakes?"

I blinked. Hm. I had decided that if he had declared we were going to do something without asking me, I would refuse. But he actually asked. And it seemed like he wanted to do it now. And milkshakes sounded... really good. Here's a friendly tip. When trying to decide whether or not you want to go somewhere, don't imagine eating a milkshake. You'll get suckered into going anywhere, especially if you're Jenna and you love milkshakes. Especially strawberry ones. Mmm...

"Milkshakes sound good right now." And I got my shoes. And I wasn't quiiite sure if it was a date or not, so I grabbed my wallet. Just in case. Rachelle recommended Wendy's. Apparently they have good milkshakes now. So Michael took me over to his car, and the two of us went. I forget what we talked about, but he was actually asking me questions. He still did a lot of talking, but he was doing a good job of wheedling words out of me too. We arrived at Wendy's and ordered two small strawberry milkshakes with whipped cream and cherries. And then Michael paid. Ah! So it is a date! Wasn't quite sure for a bit there...

The cashier looked at me and then at Michael. Then, "Heey! He paid for you!" I smiled and nodded. And Michael said proudly, "Well, I did ask her out. It's my right." Hm. Okay. Date. I guess. Oh dang. Date number two. And I was just innocently thinking about the goodness of milkshakes. Maybe I should be more careful. And not give in to milkshake bribes.

Oh, but it was a gooood milkshake. And Michael seemed to be determined to find out everything he could about me. Question after question. And I'm not sure I liked the questions. I had let it leak that I was smart. It was like he had made it his personal goal to see just how smart.

"How many AP classes did you take in high school?" "Uhh... six junior year and six senior year, so twelve..." His jaw dropped. I felt like I had to redeem myself or something. "Well I didn't take the tests for all of them..." "Well, why not?" "Conflicts..." "With what?" "Well, I did IB too, and so a lot of those tests were at the same times and such..." "What's IB?" And so I had to explain what that was. And by the time I was done with that, he thought I was a genius. Dang. "So what clubs were you in?" "Uhh... science club, Spanish club, and then I was in marching band and symphonic band..." "You were in symphonic band?" "Yes." "What did you play?" "Uhh... bassoon..." "You played BASSOON?" "Yes."

He continued until finally he declared, "Oh man, your credentials have credentials! You are so smart and talented and..." Oh great. Now he thinks I'm perfect. Ha! I am far from it! The better people know me, the more I'm sure that they realize I've got as many flaws as the next person. And credentials for what, exactly? He kept talking. "Oh, and I just can't get over that you watched Trigun with me!" Hm. That's a silly thing not to be able to get over.

I was able to find out a little about him though. Be proud of me. He told me about his mission in Albania. And he wrote the new Albanian grammar book that the MTC will start using to train new Albanian missionaries. And at some point he hinted that he was going to need a date for horseback riding for some weekend. He took me home after that.

And when I got home I sat back down on the couch and wondered what just happened. It was a very short date, but whatever. Chemistry, Jenna. Do your chemistry. Rachelle came down and teased me a bit... "Jenna!" "What?" "Did you guys... kiss?" "No!" "Ohh... I was hoping that you guys would..." Gaah! Yeesh. I've never kissed anybody, and I'd rather not start with Michael. Yeeeckh.

Well, that's all. Nothing else really exciting (with the exception of the arrival of a birthday present form my family) happened for me. Well, actually, that depends on what you define as exciting. Whatever.

Send me love and birthday wishes!

What Happens to Jenna on No Sleep.

Thursday night was absolutely brutal for me. I was so tired. And so I climbed into bed around 10:30pm -- a very early bedtime for most college students. I curled up in my blankets. And then waited for sleep to come. But it didn't. Why? I haven't the faintest clue. Well, I had sore legs, an achy back, and a dull headache. However, that usually indicates exhaustion, and that usually just makes me fall asleep all the faster. But no, I was awake. It's not like I was even thinking about anything especially worrying. But, leave me in a dark, silent, and sleepless room long enough, and I do start thinking.

I started thinking about life. And then I started examining myself. I started wondering about how judgmental I am. I don't think I'm judgmental. But then again, I actually trust my first impressions of people. Probably more than is healthy. Or maybe it is healthy. I mean, it's not like I'm wrong about the people. I met Ingrid for two minutes, and I had figured out that she was going to be a private person and that she'd probably spend more time with familiar friends than her not so familiar roommates. I was right about her. And then waaay back when I met the people in the 68th ward. I didn't really think anything different about them, except for being fonder of them. Gaah. This train of thought was leading to a beat-up-self session. I quickly decided to try and get to know people before I decided what sort of people they were, and then I cleared my head again in an attempt to fall asleep.

Then I wasn't really thinking about anything. Occasionally, the random thought that my-left-leg-is-throbbing

-annoyingly or that perhaps-I-could-be-more-comfortable-if-I-moved-there would pass through my head. I sort of drifted into a semi-sleep. I dreamt a little bit about Rachel and squirrel talk, but it wasn't long enough to get interesting because I woke up again. And then I was wide awake. And now I really hurt. I guess at some point during this semi-sleep Jackie had come in. She was asleep, but I could hear her tossing and turning in her sleep.

And then I started thinking again. I don't really like thinking so much. But I think about everything, and over-think most of that. I starting thinking about chemistry class. And then I thought... Hm. Tomorrow there's going to be a pop quiz. Then I chuckled to myself. The point of pop quizzes is that the student won't ever know when they are. And there was no reason to think there was going to be one. But then I remembered that I had successfully predicted the last few. I just laughed at myself then, telling myself that there probably wouldn't be a quiz.

Then I drifted into that strange semi-sleep again. This time the dream was a little more complicated. And I'm going to tell you about it, because I never remember dreams. Never. So I'm quite excited to have a dream to remember and tell about. Even if it is really strange.

I don't remember any of the details and dialogue, just things I saw and what I was feeling. It was a Sunday, but our usual meeting place for church was, for some reason, unavailable. And it was the 68th ward, I think. And I was sitting on the left side of the room in between Patrice and Clifton... and the ceilings were high, and vaulted, and there was stained glass everywhere.

But it was weird. You could hear next door that there was a different, very loud, very wild congregation. It was some sort of church, and instead of the reverent sacrament meeting sort of setting we were having, they were having some sort of party worship. Rachelle passed me a note, and she wanted to go see what was going on next door. I think Will had been speaking and I was tired of listening to him, and so we got up to go check it out.

We went in. The room was different, but I felt like I had walked into a dirty place. And what was going on was quite obviously scandalous, so Rachelle and I left quickly. We went back to our seats, and there was a different speaker (Jackie, I think) that we didn't mind so much listening to. And it was almost normal. Rachel was chattering in squirrel at Hillary, who was just shaking her head confusedly. And then Clifton put a note in my hand. Before I looked at the note, I remember wondering why Clifton would write me a note in sacrament meeting, especially when he was sitting right next to me.

I'm rather surprised with the detail that I remember the physical qualities of this note. It might as well have been real. I remember what it felt like, looked like... It was thin, and it looked like it had been torn out of the middle of a wide ruled notebook page. The top right corner had been torn so thinly that it had started to curl in on itself. It was about four inches wide and three inches tall. And, as I do when I'm awake, I recognized the handwriting on it immediately. It wasn't Clifton's. Clifton's was taller and skinnier, more angular, but still had curves and loops. This was Ryan's handwriting, seven whole lines of it. The top few lines of this note were written larger than the bottom few lines. I remember that the first word was my name in all caps. I was confused for a moment, until I remembered that Ryan was in the 68th ward too. I looked around to find him, and he was a few rows behind me to my right, and the girl he was sitting next to was talking to him. (Was no one in this dream paying attention to the speaker?) I looked back at the note, and I was just about to start reading past my name when --

Jackie made a loud noise in her sleep and I was suddenly awake. And then she started mumbling about something, which I presumed was differential equations, or something I hadn't studied yet. I was not very happy to have been woken up. I really wanted to know what my subconscious had put on that note. My conscious thought generated a few things that might have been on it. And those things made me stifle a laugh, lest I wake Jackie. But as to what the note in the dream said, I suppose that bit of information is lost forever. And that made a little sad.

So I thought about something else. I started thinking about the 68th ward, and that made me sad again. So I thought a little more, and tried to think uplifting thoughts. I made a little goal that I wanted to the sort of person that is always uplifting everyone. And I was trying to think about how I could do that, but I couldn't think in the slightest. Gaah, thought I. It would be really nice if I could sleep. It would be even better if it was a deep sleep and none of this horrible semi-sleep business I was having. I'd wake up after a little of that and feel even less rested than before.

Through the blinds I could see that the sun was starting to come up. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling, trudging through my scattered thoughts like a turtle wading in a field of peanut butter. My alarm went off at six. I shut it off before it had a chance to say much. But Jackie leapt up out of bed. "That was my alarm. Sorry," I said. Jackie said thanks and climbed back in bed.

I was awake, so I pulled my computer out from under my pillow and turned it on. I finished the extra credit assignment that was due in chemistry that day, which thankfully, took little actual brain power. Then Jackie's alarm went off a few times. She finally got up. I just kind of laid there. Do I want to get up? Dare I try and get some more sleep? Hm. Well, I was wide awake, and exhausted. And I'd been lying here for over nine hours, and had only gotten a measly four hours of sleep. That sucked. The odds of actually falling asleep were definitely not in my favor. So I got up. And I dejectedly walked downstairs.

Jackie looked at me from her perch on the couch. I don't remember what exactly she said, but it was something along the lines, of "Jenna, you look like death." Yeah, well, I feel like death. I grabbed my linear algebra book, some crackers, and some cheese. Then I sat on the couch and read that textbook, munching as I went. It was slow progress. I didn't need to read the book, but I hadn't quite grasped the concepts from yesterday's lecture. And it would be nice if I could do well in this class. So I trudged through it, my mind still behaving as a herd of turtles wading through a field of peanut butter. I did get through it, and I thought I understood it well enough, so I went back upstairs to my room.

Looking in the mirror, I discovered that I really did look like death. I sighed. I had some time to waste before class started. I could fix this. I got out my straightening iron and fixed my hair. Now that didn't look like death. I continued through my morning routine, paying extra special attention to everything, and eventually, I went back in front of the mirror and inspected myself. I didn't look like death. And if I had been smiling, I might have looked beautiful. So I tried to smile. But it was fake. So I just left it at that. In an attempt to make myself feel silly and thus evoke a twinge of a smile, I put on my pink snowflake pajama pants... and I feel a little better, but I didn't smile. Dang.

I went to chemistry, and half-slept through the first half of class. At any rate, I wasn't paying attention. But I woke up when I heard the word, "quiz." I blinked the sleep out of my eyes as my professor started handing out the pop quiz. Blearily, I remembered my late night prediction... no, it was more a declaration to myself, that there would be a quiz in chemistry today. That kind of disturbed me. I completed the quiz, and thankfully, since I'm a chemistry genius, the lack of sleep last night and the lack of attention during the lecture didn't really impact my performance. After class I was feeling really... empty. I did my linear algebra homework again, and this time I knew what I was doing since I had read the textbook this morning during breakfast.

At some point during all this, Michael showed up. "Hey! Do you know where the writing lab is?" I shook my head. And then Michael blinked. "Hey! I know you! How are you?"

I answered that I was okay. I mean, besides the no sleep thing, the day had gone rather... perfect. Michael left after discovering that I was doing linear algebra and declaring that I was nuts for taking it during the spring. And I continued in my homework. I went to class. And I tried to pay attention. But when I have no sleep, interesting things happen. Including horrible pain. I hurt soooo bad. My back was angrily stabbing the back of my head. So my headache got worse and worse and worse. And my head started feeling heavier and heavier and heavier. And I was fighting to urge to think about anything, because thinking in this condition inevitably leads to depression. After class, I walked over to the Benson building to do a quick chemistry lab. And I ran into Michael again.

He did that wink, point, and grin move when he saw me. I smiled weakly.

"Oh, you look so sad!" Well, I had been feeling sad and tired and generally not so good all day. But instead of telling him that, I told him, "Oh, I just didn't have the greatest rest last night, and I have a headache. So I'm going home to get an Advil, and then I'll be okay." And he didn't really say anything, so I kept walking. But then he sighed and said, "I don't have anything to do tonight." I sympathized, saying, "Me neither." I welcomed the thought of having nothing to do.

"You know it's Friday night, right?" Yes, of course I did. Every single female soul at BYU keeps Friday nights open for dates.

"Yeah."

Then he grinned. "Oh, don't worry, I'll figure out something for us to do. See ya later."

I laughed and he left. And continued on my journey to the chemistry lab, which I really would have enjoyed had it not been for my exhaustion. I mean, we burned stuff. I love burning stuff. That's the whole point of taking chemistry.

After that, I walked home. And finally my poor little brain made the belated connect. Wait a sec. Did Michael just ask me on a date? Hm. I had to think about this... perhaps. I think so. But he hadn't actually asked me anything. It was more like a declaration that we were going to do something tonight. Perhaps he was just being friendly? Or maybe not. I really didn't know. Jackie would know. Jackie always knows.

So I went home. And I walked in the door, and Jackie told me that I looked depressed. Dang it. Well, I collapsed on the couch, and curled up with my blanket and Teddy Grahams. I munched for a while, and then I said, "I think Michael asked me on a date."

Jackie was immediately animated. The thing about my roommates is, they get so excited when someone gets asked on a date, and it's instantly a big deal... whatever. "You have to tell me!"

I told. And Jackie decided that he had asked me on a date. Okay. So apparently, Michael was planning on doing something tonight. I should cheer myself up, but that seemed like an impossible task. But I had a box of Teddy Grahams. So I ate Teddy Grahams until I was happy. (Something about pulverizing little cinnamony teddies with your molars just evokes instant joy.)

The Secret Life of School Supplies.

Well, my life is extremely boring, I'll admit it right here and right now. Life is all homework and studying and classes and naps, dotted with the occasional excellent meal. Sometimes I'll even convince myself to go to a social event, at which I will find a happy little corner to keep company. I'll stay in that corner and maybe find one person in particular that I'd like to get to know, but the truth is, all these social events are doing nothing for me. Except protecting me from developing the reputation of a hermit.

So... I have one little story, which for the most part is true. This is my desperate attempt to make life interesting.

One day I was doing homework atop my happy little bunk bed. My bunk serves a dual function. Office by day, and bed by night. Alas, somehow, I ended up with the only bedroom without a desk. So I make do, happily scribbling away at my linear algebra homework. It wasn't too difficult. Just writing a few proofs of the properties of matrix row operations and their determinants. Or something.

I feel a crick in my neck coming on, so I set down my pencil. Unaware of my pencil's relation to Houdini, I forget to keep my eye on it, and take the opportunity to have a nice happy little stretch. And a yawn. A nice one. Then a happy little sigh. I blearily blink my eyes, ready to return to the tedium that is linear algebra. At first I think that perhaps a contact lens has gone askew. But no, my eyes do not deceive!

My pencil is gone, nowhere to be seen. Well, of course I was confused. It couldn't have gone far. It was just right there. I pat all around myself, searching with my eyes and hands simultaneously. Nothing. I get up, and jump off my bed. I look back up at my bed, searching the shadows of my blankets for it. "Pencil? Where are you? Where have you gone?"

This is pencil is my favorite pencil I've ever had. It is black and it has a twisty eraser, which I must say, is of high quality. I might also add that it uses 0.5 lead. My favorite. Thus, it is absolutely imperative that I find it.

After searching my bed thoroughly, I begin to panic. My pencil is gone! Gone, I say!

Desperately, I give myself a pat down, just in case it had attached its lonely little self to a pant leg or sock. No, not stuck on Jenna. Alas! My mind begins to race. "Where are you pencil?"

Maybe I dropped it as I was yawning. I drop down onto my hands and knees in an instant. "Pencil? Are you here?" Pencil, stubborn as ever, refuses to answer me. Pencil is probably snickering under the bed somewhere, taking great pride in his cleverness. So, I counter, "Pencil. Hiding from Jenna is not a clever feat! It's really easy! And thus, it is no big deal! Reveal yourself! Answer me, Pencil!" I pause for a moment, listening for Pencil's faint answer.

I hear none such thing. Sadly, I call, "Olly olly oxen free?" Still, nothing. Oh, I get it. This is hide-and-go-seek. Pencil is running all over the place, jumping from hiding spot to hiding spot, I'll bet. So, I run downstairs and proceed to scour the living room and kitchen. I decide, by this time on the verge of tears, that Pencil is gone for good.

He had left me. We were going to be together forever and ever, but then Pencil decided to make a run for it. And, if that isn't painful enough, it was during the joys of mid-homework stretch.

I dejectedly return to my bedroom on the second floor and and grabbed a second-rate writing utensil from my backpack on the chair. And then I turned back to my office bed, and climbed up the side.

I was greeted by a shocking sight. There was Pencil, sitting and smiling rather innocently up at me, right where I had left him. "Pencil!" I exclaimed. Pencil still said nothing, but gave me the smuggest look I'd ever seen from a writing utensil. "Oh, Pencil." I said, rather relievedly. "I missed you so bad." And then, since it would have been rather awkward to try and hug such a small object, I kissed it on the head and then clutched it tightly in my hand. And then, gleefully reunited, we continued in our adventures in linear algebra. Which were a lot more boring than our hide and seek game.

Epic.

It was a cold and dreary day. At least inside it was. Outside everything is ridiculously colorful and flowery and, I suppose, obnoxious if you have allergies. I've discovered that dancing can very quickly lead to sore feet and such. And that cramming a semester's worth of a course into seven weeks... means a lot of homework all at once. And so, come Friday night, I am exhausted. Physically and mentally.

And the week was over. A sigh of relief. A smile. A shout to Rachelle that I was done with the week... and the celebration is on. Wendy's run! Jackie was in Arizona, and Ingrid had run off to Park City (that's where her family lives). So it was just us two. I got my usual (junior bacon cheeseburger, two five-piece nuggets, both with honey mustard sauce, and water) and Rachelle got fries and a Frosty. We didn't talk about much as we sat in the restaurant and ate, because there was entertainment. A bunch of freshman girls had kidnapped some other freshman girl for her birthday. Birthday girl was blindfolded. So here, Rachelle's fries served as a sort of make-shift popcorn and we just watched the birthday girl's friends make her shriek. Once the food was gone, and our ears could take no more shrieks... we went home again.

Well, after the end of a long day, it is quite a natural inclination to want a hot shower. Rachelle dashed to the bathroom... and turned on the shower...

Shriek.

"IT'S FREEZING!"

I'm too tired to think about it.

Cold water... happens all the time doesn't it? Well, it never did at Heritage (at least when I was in Robison). Last time I had to deal with cold water was when I lived in Arizona. And when that happened I'd just go out into the garage and turn on the hot water heater again.

Rachelle, though, was furious. "RACHELLE IS A FREAKIN' GREASEBALL! GAAH!"

At this I go check it out myself. Sure enough, the water was freezing. In fact, I'd reckon it was darn close to turning to solid ice cubes. Ugggh.

Rachelle got her jacket on, and said, "Come on, Jenna. Let's go turn in a work order. Our shower is BROKEN!"

..."Broken? The shower works fine..."

"366 DOESN'T HAVE HOT WATER!" Rachelle broke into mumbles... "no hot water... ... ... greaseball.... ... ... work order..."

...I don't think she was very happy. I followed her, all the time not quite sure what to do when the hot water went out, but fairly certain that turning in a work order was the wrong thing to do. We went into the office, which was dark and empty. Rachelle tore off a work order. But there was no pen. And then I had an epiphany.

"Rachelle. Don't turn in a work order. They can't fix it."

"What?"

"We haven't paid for gas. The gas was turned off."

"No way! They wouldn't just turn off the gas! They'd tell us first!"

I blinked. Now that's a theory on gas companies I'd never heard before. "No... I'm fairly certain they'd just turn it off."

"No! That's indecent! That's rude! That's inhuman! They wouldn't turn it off!"

... "Yes, Rachelle. They would." Rachelle didn't believe me. In the slightest. All right. New tactic. I looked around. There was a little yellow paper with teeny print on it. There was a section entitled, Utilities. In desperation, I read it. And found something to use to persuade Rachelle to my side and stop her from making a fool of herself. "Read that," I said, pointing. She read aloud... "Remember to sign up for gas and electricity in one of your names lest the service suddenly go out one day when a former tenant decides to reclaim their deposit..."

"See? They would just shut it off!"

"No! That doesn't make sense! Why would they do that?"

"... Well, if someone cancelled a contract, they'd automatically assume that no one was living there anymore, right? So, it would definitely be more efficient to just shut off the service." Finally Rachelle believed me.

"Oh no..." she said.

So we called the gas company. And sadly... we missed the office hours. Just barely. The computer lady on the other line said... "Please call back during office hours, Monday through Friday, 8:30am to 11pm..." At that our hearts sank. We'd have to wait until MONDAY? Three whole days with cold water?

Well, after that, we all dashed to our computers. Surely the gas company would have a website we could sign up for service on...

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!" we both yelled simultaneously. The wireless... was not working. At all. No. No way. I started to think. I want hot water. There's wireless up on campus... I could lug my computer up to campus... except there's Rape Hill. Bad idea for a girl to climb Rape Hill at midnight all by her lonesome.

"JENNA!" Rachelle was yelling from her bedroom. "WANNA CLIMB RAPE HILL WITH ME?"

"YES!" I yelled back. Rachelle grabbed her computer. I grabbed my wallet. And we set off up the hill. We sat down as soon as we got in range of the wireless internet, and then we found the site for the gas company. I immediately set to putting the gas account in my name, and then I hit submit. And then there was dreadful news on the next page.

"Please allow three business days for the gas service to be activated."

No. No no no no no. Rachelle and I looked at each other. No hot water until WEDNESDAY?

We walked back down Rape Hill dejectedly. Rachelle said, almost in a whimper, "How could this happen to us? We are the sweetest girls ever!"

I nodded. I didn't say much. It really was our fault. We were so busy concentrating on school that none of us actually remembered to sign up for utilities. It was on the to-do list, yes. But we never did it.

I sighed as we went down the hill. We got home and climbed into our respective beds dejectedly. And dreamt of hot showers.

Day two.

Situation worse than originally thought. Whole house is cold. Dishes prove a difficult task. Nothing dissolves in cold water. Hands are ice cubes. Showers torture. Thick, long hair proves to be disadvantage. Shampoo solidifies in cold water. Shampoo refuses to leave hair and scalp alone. Rinsing is evil. Bald would be good. No hair. No shampoo. Soap up. Rinse off. Done. But no. Long hair. Long, thick, cold, soapy hair. Gave up on hair. Was freezing for an hour afterward. All in all, survival occured.

Day three.

Still alive. We are the greaseball girls. Tried to wash hair. Dried it. Disaster occured. There was shampoo still in it. Braided hair to hide the strange texture.

Day four.

Too cold to report. Except we live.

Day five.

Situation desperate. Commandeered neighbor's bathroom. Hot water is glory. But house still cold. Daily function difficult.

And then we got home on Tuesday night to find that the gas had been turned on, but we had to have someone qualified turn on the water heater or something. Gaah. So we went and knocked on our landlord's door. And pleaded our case. He came and turned it on. And balance was restored. Life resumed its natural course. And we celebrated. Chocolate goodies (butterscotch brownies, fudge, chocolate crinkles, and of course, a chocolate creme pie -- two of thirty!) had flowed out of our kitchen like mad in a sad attempt to restore warmth and comfort to our lives. Now the small amount that was left was celebratory in nature. We ate the remaining chocolate and continued in our normal lives.