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.