Return to BYU Part II: Men with Faces and Light!

Monday morning we woke up fairly earlyish -- today was the day for emptying my storage unit.

I got dressed, Rachel got dressed, and... Rachelle came over. Angel Rachelle was going to help me move back in! I was getting out my paperwork for the storage unit, when -- VRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMM! The apartment sprang to life -- especially the blender -- and the three of us jumped. I sprinted to the kitchen to turn off the blender. We had power! The clocks on the kitchen appliances were blinking happily, and the refrigerator was humming with glee... the lights were shining brightly, and, of course, the residents were jumping with joy. Electricity is niiiice.

Rachelle got into her cute little silver Civic, and Rachel and I got into her teal and decaying Mazda, and we drove to Orem. At one point, Rachel and I lost Rachelle. And I hadn't brought my cell phone. So, using Rachel's dying cell, we called Hillary and begged her to find Rachelle's number. Hillary didn't have it, but she hung up and proceeded to tear apart her room in search of an old 68th ward directory. I sighed. "Well," I said dejectedly, "I'll go sign an Intent to Vacate Form and you can go park where she'll see you if see was looking for us."

I went and filled out all the paperwork necessary, and went back outside to -- Rachelle! She was waving happily at me. Now... where is Rachel? Crud. I sighed. We found her near the main road, then I jumped from Rachelle's car to Rachel's car (Rachel didn't have the code to get into the gate). We got into the storage facility and then drove over to my happy little spider-infested storage unit, O16. We broke in (with our keys, of course) and proceeded to... cringe and cough at the dust that flew up in the air at the disturbance of the door. And then we winced as we watched the spiders scurrying away from the sudden sunlight pouring into the unit. Poor creatures. We took brooms to the pesky eight-legged creatures, but after determining that they were all harmless daddy long legs... we were a little less disturbed at our arachnid infestation. We still ferociously took my happy green broom and swept off all the boxes in attempts to destroy any stow away spiders and/or webs, but we weren't quite as concerned as before.

We very carefully packed Rachelle's and Rachel's cars, swept out the unit in an attempt to unhouse as many spiders as we could, and then happily drove back to Provo. However, upon approaching our apartment... no parking spaces. Anywhere. Finally, Rachel found a teeny space on a street kind of close to us, but unfortunately, she had to parallel park to get into it, which she isn't very good at, and definitely isn't good at. Rachelle, however, could not find a parking space. She parked illegally in the lot right next to our little red brick building, and we rushedly emptied her car.

Then -- Rachel and Rachelle switched the places of their cars. Now Rachel was parked illegally, and Rachelle was in that teeny little spot on the road far away. We rushedly emptied Rachel's car, and then -- we determined that we ought to go buy some groceries. In Rachelle's car though -- her Civic had air conditioning, whereas Rachel's Mazda didn't. So, Rachel and Rachelle switched car spaces again. Then we all clambered into Rachelle's vehicle and journeyed to the nearest Smith's.

Sadly, I had a mere thirty-six dollars in my checking account, and a happy little Benjamin my dad gave me (he was concerned that I wouldn't be able to live on thirty-six dollars). So I was careful, but I still ended up buying a lot of stuff -- I mean, the refrigerator was bone dry. Real food is good. All the lines for the real cashiers were full -- and the self-service stations were empty. Unfortunately, those don't accept one-hundred-dollar bills. And the total came to... forty dollars. So... I inserted a five I hadn't realized I had, and then paid for the rest with my debit card. Which effectively lowered the balance in my checking account to a scrawny $1.70. That made me sick inside. Darn it, I need to get that Benjamin into my checking account! It's all I have! I could be mugged any second now! This is dangerous. However... that would require getting to the bank. Which wouldn't be so bad if I had a Wells Fargo account, since they have one in the BYU Bookstore... but I don't. So I live in constant and paranoid risk of mugment. I've never been mugged, and I would hate for this to be the first time -- I mean, it's a hundred bucks. That enough to feed me for... I don't know. A month or longer! I could totally live on potatoes, and scrambled eggs, and other ridiculously cheap sorts of food, and I could totally make it last me for forever!!!

Ooh, sorry, got off track.

Rachelle dropped us off at our apartment and left, since there wasn't any legal parking, and we brought our food inside.

Commence the unpacking! Box after box after box of stuff!

I unpacked all the gajillions of canned food first, which I had used to fill a garbage can that I used to use as a mop bucket. Then there was a ginormous clear bin full of spices and other non-perishable foods that I didn't want mice to get at. I opened the lid. And ohhh... The distinct aroma of a spice cupboard wafted up to my nose. Ah... Spices. The essence of flavor! I filled my cupboards happily. I moved on to the many boxes of dishes. Then the boxes of blankets and bedding. Then the boxes of winter clothing. Then the boxes of school supplies. Then the boxes of piano music and old school books. Then... the printer and the CD player... and... my goodness. It's all out. And put in place. And happy.

And... goodness. It was a lot easier to unpack than it was to pack it all up in the first place. Especially since I was keenly aware of all the nooks and crevices in which I could hide things. And I had already created an organizational system last term. It was a happy, triumphant feeling indeed.

Shortly thereafter, I took a shower to clean off all the dustiness I now felt from the storage unit encounters, and then Rachel and I went to dinner with her grandfather, aunt, mother, father, and brother at Chuck-A-Rama. We stuffed ourselves with not-cold-canned-ravioli-

goodness. Then we went back home.

And it was Monday evening. And I now had nothing to do!

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

I went to answer. A blond guy with glasses and brown eyes and two girls (one brunette and one blonde) looked at me. The brunette looked familiar... her name was Michelle and had been in my FHE group last semester.

"Hey," said the guy. "Want to do a makeshift Family Home Evening, since nobody lives at BYU anymore?"

"Of course," said I, and Rachel agreed when she came down. "What are we doing?"

He shrugged. "We were thinking of going to the malt shoppe."

Rachel and I introduced ourselves, the blond introduced himself as Mark, and the girls introduced themselves as Michelle and Shalise.

We had already eaten and were quite full. But FHE was not about stuffing ourselves, it was about having FHE. So, we continued down the red brick building gathering as many girls as possible. Only then did we try to recruit the guys. It is a universal fact that is it easier to convince guys to do something with girls than it is to convince girls to do something with guys. Because we had a fair number of females in the group, and only one guy thus far... it was easy after that. Soon we had more guys with us than girls, including some guys I recognized from spring term.

We walked down to the Malt Shoppe, which was, thank goodness, within walking distance. There was time to talk.

Mark and I finally figured out that we had met before -- he was the faceless man I met with the fantastic voice. I also found out that he was a shameless flirt. He was trying to describe to me a sweet burger... "You know those burgers that have that slightly sweet taste?"

I shook my head no. "Like... they're sweeter than most burgers," he says. "I have no idea what you're talking about," says I.

He was a little bummed that I didn't know what he was talking about, but he continued. "I don't know... the bun is extra sweet." He paused. "Kind of like you."

I just laughed, although I nearly choked on the laughter since the lame pick-up line was so sudden and unexpected. I looked at him more carefully... am I going to have to watch this one? I don't mind the guys that flirt with everyone. It's the ones that single you out that you have to watch out for. Mark just grinned. "Was that subtle enough for you? You'll quickly find out that I'm that one that's always flirting."

"Aha," I said. "Thanks for the warning. That means I don't have to take you seriously."

He nodded. "Yep. Exactly."

We got to the Malt Shoppe where everyone except Rachel and I ordered something tasty. One of my old home teachers, Chris, had a bunch of quarters, and noticed Rachel and I admiring a jukebox. We were flipping through the songs, and suddenly, Chris nudged a quarter into my fingers. I grinned, and punched in a number.

The jukebox got busy quick, but it startled me at how loud it was. Chris looked down at the jukebox and then at me. He seemed to approve of my choice of music, but also looked mystified. "What is this?"

I grinned. "E.L.O." I replied. "Don't Bring Me Down." He may not have heard it before, but he liked it, judging from the look on his face. Encouraged by my choice of music, others in our makeshift FHE group found songs on the jukebox. We all sat down, and, aside from Rachel and I, ate our goodies. Talked to each other about random stuff. And suddenly, the jukebox broke into blatant triple swing.

Here is what happens to you once you've taken social dance at BYU. You sense the beat and you know -- this song is a triple swing, or a waltz, or a cha cha... and you feel the horrible urge to get up and dance. However, in order to do this you must have a partner of the opposite sex. So, here I was, just stewing to dance. Fingers and feet itching. However, I rather sucked at swing. I suppressed the desire, and I would have gotten away with not dancing at all had I been the only one afflicted.

Suddenly, one the guys whose name I unfortunately did not catch leapt up. "Who wants to triple swing?! I need to swing. This is a swing song!" He looked around at the girls. "Don't any of you know how to dance?"

Chris somehow knew I could and pointed firmly at me. So the guy who wanted to dance zoned in on me. "He's pointing at you. You can dance...?" He offered his hands. Well, I wanted to dance, didn't I? The malt shoppe wasn't much of a dance floor, but it would have to do.

The dancing began. I was surprised at how naturally it came, even if triple swing wasn't my strength in dancing. He wasn't the best lead, but then I wasn't the best follower, so it was okay. He twirled me around like a top, which earned lots of cheering and whistling from the crowd behind me. This was a little bizarre... since when could I dance and look goos while doing it? This must be a recent development. The end of the song came, and he dipped me.

I love dips. They don't teach that in class, but it's happened to me once before, and that was with Zach Smith, who actually was the first to try and teach me triple swing. Sniff. And he is gone on his mission. Sniff. He also doesn't reply to mail ever. Sniff. Dancing also reminds me of Clifton. Sniff. Who is also gone. Sniff. And then I remembered that it was when I was going to dance with Clifton that Ryan called to tell me where he was going on his mission. Sniff. Ack, and he is gone too! They're all gone! All of them! It was like a whole row of dominoes. A whole row of very sad dominoes (for me, definitely NOT for them) I had been trying very hard to keep standing. But sad day, now I am all bummed and remembering that all my guyfriends from last year are gone on missions and I won't see them for a while. That always makes me sad.

Well, the dance was over. And here I was missing my friends that I used to dance with. I was very quiet the rest of time, and just eavesdropped on everyone else's conversations. We walked home, and I went to bed, a little lonelier and deader than I had been before FHE. One of those internal voices always says, Don't be sad. They are where they need to be, and you are where you are supposed to be, and the work is going forth, and -- Then the other voice says, Shut up. I know that. Stop thinking about that. The retort: Just because I shouldn't be sad doesn't mean I'm not. Just because it is more appropriate to not miss people quite so much doesn't mean that's what is going on... And soon it is a whole internal argument that even my internal poet gets involved in, starting to quote Dana Gioia's "Unsaid"...

"So much of what we live goes on inside --
The diaries of grief, the tongue-tied aches
Of unacknowledged love are no less real
For having passed unsaid. What we conceal
Is always more than we dare confide.
Think of the letters that we write our dead."

The unfortunate reality is that pretending not to miss your friends doesn't make you miss them any less. I'm not one for poetry. But I like this one. It is kind of comforting, at least for me. Ooh. You know AP English made a lasting impression on you when you feel the great urge to analyze this. I did analyze it... for fun. And I thought I hated poetry analysis. For your sake, I did not include my analysis of Gioia's poem.

Also for your sakes, I have not included all the supercool stuff I've been learning about the brain this week. I've been doing Education Week and I've been to nearly every neuroscience or psychology-ish class offered. I am starting to notice the intense excitement I feel when I'm learning about the brain. Right now I am resisting every urge to tell you all about the pre-frontal cortex and the limbic system. I want to tell you all about nerve cells and dendrites and such. I want to tell you all about how a child's brain develops and how myelination affects the "terrible two's" and the teenagers. I want to explain to you the basic differences between the male brain and the female brain and how that translates into behavior. I want to tell you about brain disorders and how medications like antidepressants work. I want to tell you how stress damages your brain. I want to tell you how your brain stores memories. And I most especially want to tell you how prayer affects your brain... However, I rather feel that you wouldn't be half as interested as I am. So I will spare you.


I will write again soon, and I hope I didn't bore you.
Love, Jenna.

Return to BYU Part I: Faceless Men and Darkness.

I see many of you picked up on my extreme excitement upon coming back home to Provo and BYU. Here is the epic tale of my return.

It is Saturday morning, the long-awaited sixteenth of August. I groggily hear the all-too-familiar sound of my phone ringing... Ah, alarm. That means wake up. Yugh, can it be 6:30 already? I look at the clock. Indeed, it can. Maybe staying up until 1:30 wasn't such a bright idea. But I had to finish packing... which meant cleaning all my laundry. And I had to watch the Olympics, of course. Which meant staying up later than I usually do. And... then waking up feeling a bit more tired than I should like. Oh, sigh. I turned off the alarm and considered getting up and getting ready. But the bed was comfy -- the kind of comfy that never happens when you're actually allowed to be sleeping, and inconveniently presents itself only at the times when it is definitely not acceptable to stay in bed. So... I cuddled up in the blankets, enjoying another five minutes of happy sleepiness, while managing not to fall back asleep. I was much too excited to fall back asleep.

I eventually climbed out of bed and got ready for my flight, which really only took about half-an-hour... I had done most of the time-consuming preparations the night before. And soon I was ready. I kissed the members of my family who were too tired to get up to see me off and hugged them as best as I could while they lay groggily in their beds.

Mother (as I like to pronounce it, moe-thur) and one of my sisters helped me load my two suitcases into the car, and we drove off. The ride seemed so long. And then we got to the airport. Mom tried to get my luggage out, but she was unable. I grabbed my two fairly heavy red bags, my horribly scarred and sunburnt backpack, and my laptop bag. And I waved goodbye to my mother and sister, and I turned to the airport behind me. Goodbye Phoenix.

I checked in my suitcases and made it through security with ease. I got this airport thing down. And, I was among the first of the passengers from my flight to show up in the terminal, so I had a fairly decent choice of seats. All is well. I had about an hour until I'd be allowed to board the airplane, so I pulled out my pen and paper and wrote letters to missionary buddies. The hour passed by as quickly as my thoughts would allow it to -- excitement sometimes makes time last longer. Writing usually makes it go by abnormally fast. So, it balanced out. Before I knew it, I was on the plane sitting in an aisle seat next to a middle-aged couple who both entertained themselves with books. And about a hour and a half later, the plane landed, and I was off to reclaim my red suitcases.

Grandma Salisbury picked up my bags and I, we went and filled our empty stomachs with Chinese food, and we visited my great-aunt Alice. Then it was off to Provo. For real.

I remember during that last ride when I finally saw the Y again. It made me happy.

And then soon the streets started to look familiar.

And then...

"That's my apartment!" I happily leaped out of the car, dashed behind the red brick building where I lived, and made my way to the office where I gratefully commandeered my key for apartment #366. I was the first one to check in for my apartment.

I burst out of the office and made a beeline for the back of the red brick building. They had replaced the back doors last spring term, and they didn't have numbers on them anymore. But ha! I used to live here! I know which door is mine, even if they do look all the same. I triumphantly opened the third door on the left and entered the familiar kitchen.

Wait a minute.

My kitchen was full of random pieces of furniture. Mattresses, book shelves, and other thingamabobs that definitely weren't here last time I lived here. Interesting. I also picked up on the fact that... the refrigerator and freezer doors were open. I inspected it. The refrigerator wasn't on, so it didn't really matter that the doors were open. I closed them. I looked over at my oven. Usually there was a time on the the display. The display was black, blank, and lifeless. I looked over at the where the time on the microwave should be. Same thing. Black, blank, and lifeless. I flipped the switch for the kitchen on and off -- nothing.

My suspicions were confirmed -- we have no electricity. Aw, darn it!

I ran the faucet. The water was warm enough, so we had hot water. That was nice. I'd been paying the gas bill all summer, since it would have been more expensive to turn it off and then pay for the servicemen to come turn it back on. However, I hadn't been paying for electricity -- Ingrid had been in charge of that bill. And it would have stood to reason that she would have canceled the service so she wouldn't have to pay for it anymore.

I should have expected a lack of electricity. I really should have.

I decided to think about it later; Grandma was waiting for me in the car. I went out, retrieved my suitcases, and she left. I lugged my luggage up to my room. Hm. I noticed that the bedroom window had been left open. That was okay -- I suspected that having the window open all summer had prevented my apartment from turning into an oven. I mean, it was around sixty degrees at night. That would have kept it cool. And, thanks to the flyscreen, there weren't any excess bugs or dirt or any other ill effects that could have happened from having a window open for two months.

I went back downstairs and hugged my grandmother goodbye. She drove away, and I was alone. I called up Rachel -- she was ten minutes away -- and she agreed to pay for electricity, since we didn't have any. I waited for ten agonizing minutes. And then -- ka-blammy! I looked out the window and saw them -- Rachel and her mother.

It was like one of those cheesy, cliché moments you see on those stupid TV shows of long-separated couples finally seeing each other, fields apart. And then they run through the grassy fields and embrace each other, spinning around and around and around -- and the whole time some incredibly dramatic and/or romantic music is playing.

Got that image in your head? Now, replace that cheesy, romantic image with this -- instead of the couple, you've got one Jenna and one Rachel. Instead of the flowery fields, you've got a grassy volleyball court. And instead of the background music, you have the Jenna and the Rachel squealing, "Eeeeeeeeeeee!" like two squirrelish mosquitoes on loudspeakers about to collide like two speeding bullet trains.

If that doesn't show you what it was like -- nothing will. It was pure joy.

We got to unloading all Rachel's junk from the back of her father's brand new, shiny, white truck. Her little brother, Andrew, is autistic, and he sort of helped. Mostly he was mischievously putting things in the wheels and exhaust of Dad's shiny, new truck. We got to calling the electric company -- or, at least Rachel did.

She impatiently listed to the computer lady chant off the normal office hours, and that the estimated wait time was greater than five minutes or not. I don't think she was listening to it very closely, but she thought we should go visit the power company in person and set up the account. We found out where the the utilities building was -- less than a block away, and we drove over.

Except -- it was closed. Rachel's parents and brother followed us in that shiny, white truck that -- hm. It shouldn't be making that noise, should it?

SKKKKKRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEE.... skree skkkuuurrreeeeeee... They parked, and it stopped. Rachel's dad determined that the horrid sound was coming from the front wheel. It seems that Andrew had put a rock or something into the wheel and it was wreaking havoc as best it could. And it was stuck in the wheel. Ugh. So we sat and watched Brother Cope drive in backwards circles in the parking lot as Rachel and I waited for the power people to get to us.

Finally, "Hello, Provo Utilities, how may I help you?" YES! YEEESSS!!! Even if Brother Cope wasn't having much luck with the truck -- we are soooo talking to a real man -- electricity, here we come!

Rachel set up the account and such. And then... "Electricity won't be on until Monday morning." Ah, phooey. Rachel and I headed back to our apartment, Brother Cope still driving in circles, backwards. Poor sap. He'd just gotten the truck that morning. Brand, stinkin' new. Unfortunate day!

Aw, well. Rachel unpacked and such. We only had until the sun was down to do whatever it was we need to do...

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK! Somebody loves us? Already? Ee!

Rachel and I answered the door - one of the guys in our ward, Andrew, wanted us to come and watch a movie at his place. Apparently, everybody is ridiculously bored here at Monticello. About three quarters of the previous population left for the next two weeks. Andrew looked dejectedly bored. "Who else is coming?" "Hopefully... as many people as possible. It's like... a ghost town around here. And it's so quiet here."

So, we went to his house and watched a movie called Vantage Point. It was a little annoying because it kept rewinding and showing the same event from someone else's point of view... After that, we watched the Olympics a little. And then I went home to a pitch black apartment.

I started to get ready for bed, beginning with the removal of my contacts. I went to my bedroom and sat on my bed... and suddenly realized... oh. There... is pretty much no electricity. At all. Which pretty much means no light. Which makes it much more difficult to read my scriptures. I sat dejectedly on the bed for a moment.

You people have to understand something about me to fully understand this moment. You people all think I'm perfect. I submit to you that I am not. My whole life... consistent scripture reading has been my nemesis, my struggle. I could never do it two days in a row. I was absolutely amazed when I could do it for two or three consecutive days. And then, suddenly, for no apparent reason, and after approximately fifteen years of constant struggle -- I could finally do it. I hadn't skipped a day for nearly two whole months. Okay, so two months might seem a little pathetic to you, but the truth is, it seems like a great accomplishment for me. One that I am immensely proud of.

And it seems so shameful. To stop now. Just because I have no light. How lame is that.

So, I am on a quest to find light.

Light, light.

Oh! Flashlight! I have one of those!

... ... ... Except... I don't. My flashlight is currently in my storage unit. In Orem. That isn't going to work. I look out my window. Street lamp! That's light! I look out the bathroom window. The volleyball court is lit! I could sit on my back step and read. That would be better than sitting in the gutter and reading by dim and flickering lamp light.

I grab my daddy's scriptures, which I stole (with his permission), and sauntered downstairs to my back step. Now that I could see, I realized and remembered... oh. My contacts are... not... in... my... eyes. Ah, well. It's a good thing I am near-sighted. I will still be able to read. If I hold the book rather close to my face.

So there I was, a triple combination nearly plastered to my face, trying to read it in the dim volleyball court lights.

"Do I know you?" said a bass voice. An extremely attractive bass voice.

I looked up, as is the habit for a sighted person. I was painfully reminded that my contacts were way upstairs in the bathroom as I looked up at the flesh-colored blob in front of me. Aw, crap. But he asked a question; I should answer it.

"Um, I don't know. I can't tell. I can't see you." And it was the truth. I didn't know if I knew that voice or not.

He came closer. I still couldn't see him. "I'm Mark," he said, rather attractively. Dang it, dang it, dang it. I want to know what you look like.

"I'm Jenna. I was here for spring, and I went home for summer," I replied.

"Ah, then I wouldn't know you. I showed up for summer."

"Ah, yes. Then I definitely wouldn't know you." Nice to have that established. We continued the small talk until he noticed that I was busy, and then the flesh-colored blob sauntered off with its attractive voice. I grumbled a little to myself. I didn't even know at all what he looked like. My very best guess? Blond*, I think. Possibly with glasses. And if I had to guess what color his eyes were I would guess dark brown. But I wouldn't bet my life on it for fear of death.

I finished reading and went back inside. I curled up on the couch, because my bedding was still in the storage unit. And I fell asleep.

Sunday morning! Rachel had gone to a farewell, so I had to go to church all by my lonesome. It was pretty much the happiest thing ever. I missed BYU wards. After that, I was pretty much all by my lonesome for a while.

What to eat, what to eat?!

Well, we don't have anything perishable. Nor do we have electricity to heat up anything. I sighed dejectedly as I pulled a can of ravioli out of the cupboard. A spoon, a spoon! Dang it. No silverware. It's all in my storage unit. All in Orem! Gah! I search through the drawers of dishes Rachel brought. And... I found... a spatula!

I sat of my blue couch and ate a happy little can of cold, canned ravioli. With a spatula. If you're hungry enough, it isn't that bad. After that, I pulled out my letter-writing equipment and finished one letter I started in the airport, and wrote another two. In the midst of writing my little brother Cliftonius, I noticed a little teal car in front of my apartment trying to parallel park, and failing miserably. I laughed at it. That must be Rachel. It was. Rachel hadn't been home long when...

My phone went off. Jackie Bodily called to ask if she and Rachelle could come over with a gift. I accepted the offer, of course.

They came; the gift was a chocolate creme pie. Ee! (Aw, dang it. I need to make a pie this month!) Pie is good. Rachel and I devoured it before their eyes, and talked with Rachelle until the sun went down. (Jackie had to leave early.)

Then Rachel says abruptly, "Jenna. Who is Mark?"

I blink. "A guy in our ward."

"Oh. He has an amazing voice! What does he look like?!"

I bow my head in shame. "I don't know." I proceeded to explain the situation.

She scolded me.

"How do you know about Mark?" I queried.

"Um... My bedroom window was open last night. And while I was in bed, I heard this glorious bass voice say, 'Hi. I'm Mark.' And then I heard, 'Hi. I'm Jenna.'"

I laughed. "You should have come down. Then you could have told me what he looked like!"

"Yes, I was debating how to do such a thing. But I didn't have my contacts in either, and I was in a tank top and grubby pajama pants. I was seriously considering looking for some sort of shirt to throw on over my tank, but then it was dark and there was no hope of fixing the pajama pants too at such short notice."

I laughed again. I consoled with the fact that soon we'd have a ward directory, and then we could find out what the mysterious Mark looked like.

Her idea was to get our scriptures and read on the porch again -- with our contacts in, which we did. Sadly, no Mark.

------
*Quick grammar quiz! Blond or blonde? It comes from the French. Blond is for males and blonde is for females. Less well-known is brunet versus brunette. Brunet is for males and brunette is for females. Said the same way, but spelled different. Just like fiancé versus fiancée. If you want to remember it, consider the words male and female. The word female has one more 'e'. This is what you get for corresponding with a nerd. :)