News!

No, sorry, no exciting news. Just a general update to the general populace, aight? I don't expect this'un to be long.

First -- academics. Not much to complain about. I'm waltzing pretty darned well, when I remember the routine. Neurobiology is by far easiest class, unless you count New Testament. Oh, and family history. But as far as religion classes go -- compared to the other classes I've been taking, they're a joke. Don't get me wrong; BYU religion classes are hard. It's just I kind of forget when I'm studying for them that it's a class. So they don't count. My hardest class is neuroanatomy. It also happens to be my favorite class.

Second -- social life. Y'all should be proud of me. I have recently discovered what the difference between me and the center of the party is: I expend energy in social situations, whereas your classic extrovert gains energy in them. I come home from socializing more exhausted than when I spend the same amount of time exercising. I don't think anything I do will change that.

Despite its exhausting nature, I have been quite good at socializing this semester. Reveling in my unemployment, I have endeavored to memorize everybody's name in the ward and be to carry on a decent conversation with all of them. I still have a loooooong way to go. I get all the many Matts mixed up.

Among my social accomplishments this semester:
-- About every other day I go to somebody else's house for dinner.
-- Every two weeks I cook for them instead.
-- I actually invite people over.
-- I actually go randomly visit people.
-- Most of the people in the ward know my name.
-- I actually try to go to party-esque things.
-- Although I study better alone, I attend more study groups.

Be proud!

I actually also had a date last week. No, none of the guys in my ward...

Meet my friend Carlos Alett Osorio Rueda, age 18, from Mexico. He comes over to our apartment on occasion -- and that's a bit of a hike from where he lives. He lives right across from the MTC (about a thirty minute walk from our house). He knows us because he knows Ron and Aubrey. He is just one of those people that when you see him, you just have to jump up with your arms in the air and yell, "Carlos!!!" And, whenever he visits, that's exactly what EVERYBODY does. He's an interesting chap. By my judgment, he is one of those extremely shy guys with an extroverted facade. He is fluent in five or six languages -- English, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Arabic, and Hindi. He uses big words a lot, and is a teensy bit narcissistic.

Thursday night I said goodnight to Shannon, who was studying on our bedroom floor, when there was a knock on our closed bedroom door. "Come in!"

Carlos pokes his head in timidly and explains that his roommate just last minute decided to do a double date tomorrow and that now he needs a date. Then he looks at Shannon and asks if either of us want to go.

Shannon declines and explains that she is busy. (She had a date scheduled for Friday evening, Saturday morning, Saturday lunch, and Saturday evening... all different guys... This is typical of Shannon's weekends.) Carlos looks over at me then, and well, I didn't have anything better to do, and this is my friend... so... "I can go," I said, looking tired and a little bit like a drowned cat lost in a quilt trying to stay awake. What can I say, it was 11:30pm. Groggily I wrote my phone number on a slip of paper for him, kicked him out, rolled over, and fell straight to sleep.

The following evening, Shannon and I got ready for our dates. I finished getting ready first, and then helped Shannon with her outfit. Her date told her to dress in the 20s style, so I lent her one of my hats and one of my little silk flowers. She looked pretty amazing. Feeling a little inferiorly dressed, I borrowed her French beret. There.

Shannon's date showed up first. I let him in, but Shannon wasn't quite ready yet. He was dressed all spiffy-like in 20s garb too and introduced himself as Jaren Meldrum. Once inside, he made a beeline for our bookshelf. Aside from our ginormous wall of missionary pictures, on the shelf closest to the ceiling I have a little magnetic picture board that Rachel's mom gave me for Christmas. I had printed a few duplicate pictures for it, but it was teeny and I can only see the very topmost picture if I try to put them all on. Tonight the top picture was of Elder Strong (that's Ryan) feeding some kangaroos peanuts.

He inquired as to who it was, and I told him. "I thought that was him. I picked him up from the airport. And that's at the Gorge. ... I was probably there when that picture was taken. I might've even taken that picture!" He then spied the wall full of pictures (you've have thought he would have seen that first...) and found all the pictures with Ryan in them. And then he told me exactly where each picture was taken.

Small world, eh? This sort of thing has actually happened a few times with some other missionaries on our expansive wall, including Dallin and Cliftonius. Only at BYU would something like this be commonplace. Soon, guys'll be looking at all the pictures on our wall and suddenly we will hear one exclaim, "Hey, that's me!" We've got a bajillion nameless companions up there...

Shannon and Jaren left for their date and I was left all by myself. And Carlos didn't show up until forty-five minutes after he had said he'd show up. But he did show up eventually, looking a little ruffled and distracted. We piled into the back seat his roommate's car. His roommate, Joseph, was driving, and in the passenger's seat was Joseph's date named Ericka. According to the guys, the plan was to make pie. To say the least, I was pretty excited.

But first -- to the Creamery! We needed lemon juice if we were going to make lemon meringue pie! Ericka was also starving and begged Carlos to buy her dinner. He consented and bought her an entire pizza. He offered to buy me food, but I told him I'd already eaten. Then he offered to buy me groceries, but I thought that was a tad ridiculous. At the checkout with lemon juice, a pie crust, and a pizza, I saw cashier Kerstin Wheatley! It was exciting.

We finally went back to Portuguese House where Carlos and Joseph live. I'd been there before because Carlos made us enchiladas. They were tasty, so I figured our cooking adventures would turn out all right. However, making the pie was a little rocky. Several things were not done as they should be, and when I'd comment, Carlos would just tell me to trust that it would turn out. Eventually we got the lemony goodness filling into the crust, and then into the fridge. We all decided not to top it with meringue because none of us really liked meringue anyway.

While the pie was in the fridge, supposedly firming up, Ericka pulled out coloring books and watercolor paints. I grabbed the Care Bears coloring book, and ripped out a page that said, "I love you!" with a Care Bear holding a ginormous heart. I painted it. With skill, much to the amazement of everyone else.

"What are you going to do with that when you're done?" inquired Carlos.

I thought, and answered, "I shall send it to my brother. He's in Mexico."

After the Care Bear, I ripped a bird picture out of a different coloring book. I painted those for Carlos. Then I abandoned the coloring books, and just started painting on blank paper. I started with a classic triangle-shaped Jenna. Then I decided to attempt a guy. I suceeded painting one in a Sunday clothes. I decided that would be Alex since he didn't have a name badge. (Alex isn't allowed to wear his missionary name tag all the time. Sad day.)

I also painted a French moustache and soul patch on Carlos. Ericka and I both loved it, but Carlos kept fidgeting and complaining about it. Then Ericka and I painted moustaches on ourselves. Then he pinned down Joseph and gave him a Hitler-stache.

We broke out the pie -- but it was an epic failure indeed. Carlos was devastated, and felt obligated to buy us all ice cream. We went back to the Creamery. Carlos looked humiliated because of his painted 'stache, but the rest of us flaunted ours, taking a gajillion pictures as we went. We went back to his place with ice cream and watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail -- until Carlos fell asleep. We left Carlos on the couch and Joseph took Ericka and I home.

So that is all for my social life. Sorry I don't have any other exciting stories to tell you about. No, I don't have a Valentine, nor anyone in particular that I wish was my Valentine. This will be my twentieth Valentine's Day, and still alone! Sad day. I think I'll spend Valentine's Day... erm... sleeping. And doing homework. And maybe I'll invite people over for dinner or something. Ooh, I know, we should have a breakfast cereal party! ... It will be amazing.

Ooh, I'll invite my former FHE brothers! Oh, sad story. Dan and Alex Seegmiller, whose guts I love, have been chased out of their apartment by bedbugs. They are no longer in our ward. Rachel and I are trying to convince them to pitch a tent on our lawn and live there (we promised we'd feed them...) but they have yet to accept our offer. (Is that against the Honor Code?)

And they left just when we were starting to make progress with Alex's hugphobia. I mean, really. I very deliberately stood three feet away from him and exclaimed "ALEEEXXXX!!!" like I always do when I hug him. And he came forward and gave me a hug, immediately afterwhich he crossed the room and gave Shannon a hug too. Yesssss! Still though, if you hold on too long, he reverts back to being as stiff as a board. Sigh.

Even worse than my favorite 26th ward brothers leaving -- I got a new one that creeps me out of my mind. No hugs for him. His name is Ben. He pokes me in the side a lot, complains loudly when I don't hold eye contact long enough, steals my computer to pull-up weird YouTube videos, and randomly stops by with no-bake cookies. I sometimes get the feeling he is evaluating me as a test subject for some strange experiment. When he comes over, I make a point to hide upstairs in my room.

As far as I am concerned, he is a disgrace to the name Ben. I always wanted to name my oldest son Benjamin and call him Ben, and if creepy brother Ben sullies that name I shall be quite upset with him. Quite.

Speaking of Benjamins -- this is for Elder Ben Poulsen!

Clifton could very possibly be dead (!!!!), Ryan lives, Alex lives, Zach lives, Dallin lives, Will lives, and, yes, Ben lives. I've heard from all of them in the past week via letters/ emails/ blog posts (viva la Internet), except for Clifton, who I haven't heard from since December. He's dead! *panic!!!* Anyway, I neglected to inform everybody last time that Ben, too, lives. I'm sorry, Ben. It won't happen again.

The end. Send me word of the goingson in you people's lives. It makes me feel loved to see stuff pop up in my inbox.

Happy 2009 to All.

I realize that I haven't written in an awfully long time. Apologies to everyone, or at least to the ones who enjoy these things. I suppose then that this will just be an general update dotted with stories... I'm afraid that not much of importance has happened.

So -- I guess I shall answer common questions from everyone. Dates, grades from last semester, job, new classes, and any other adventures. Okee. :D

For the question on my parents' minds, and probably the minds of most of my many adopted parents in Chandler -- no, no dates. I did get asked on two though, both of which I declined. Hm. Perhaps if I told you about these, then you might understand.

First, let me introduce you to Jacob Stark -- extremely intelligent, inquisitive, and armed with a whole quiver of skills. He is one of Shannon's good friends, so he visits sometimes. He is probably one of those people who I will never understand, and he freaks me out. I honestly can't describe him to you. Honestly. The best I can do is tell you is that his behavior is always in what we have dubbed the Stark Spectrum -- one end being ridiculously happy, cheery, extroverted, hyper, and friendly; the other end being creepy, morbid, dark, and just plain disturbing. I'm warning you now -- I'm only describing the creepy end of the spectrum. So, if at the end of this little storylet you think Jacob is a creep -- it's because he is sometimes, and that's all I've told you about.

Sometimes he gets this cannibalistic gleam in his eye, and sometimes when he has this look -- he'll bite me on the arm or shoulder. Heeeh... He's done it two or three times.

His conversation skills could use some work, I think. Once he walked up to me in church and said, "You know, when I see you, I think of drowning kittens." Then he proceeded to explain to me in morbid detail exactly how he would drown the kittens. I obviously couldn't see my own face at this point, but I do remember my eyebrows knitting together, my jaw dropping, and just giving him a general look of horror. My personal theory is that he just takes insane joy from seeing me horrified, because he doesn't say things like that to anyone else. But I'll never know. While I was still standing there with a stunned look on my face, Hillary exclaimed, "Jacob! That's HORRIBLE!"

He stopped for a moment -- then said. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I felt like I should to say something to you, Jenna, so I did."

"Drowning kittens? I remind you of drowning kittens?" I demanded.

"Well, no..."

Hillary then demanded that he pay me a compliment immediately. He told me I was beautiful today and left.

A few weeks later at church again, he walked up to me after sacrament meeting and abruptly asked, "If all your roommates were drowning, and you had to choose, would you go to dinner and a movie with me?"

I remember sitting in my seat with a stunned look on my face, and it took me a few seconds to process what he had just asked. "Is that an either/or question?" I asked disapprovingly, ignoring the little excited voice in my head that said, Ooh, free food! I love food!

He opened his mouth, closed it again, walked away, and, well... hasn't talked to me since.

I think I don't have to expand on why I didn't want to go on that date.

The other one... well, I'm bringing in an old character for this one. Remember Michael Smith? He's baaa-aaackk...

If you don't, let me refresh your memory. Rewind to spring term of last year. That guy that kept "asking" me on dates, or rather, planning dates with me and then telling me about them as if it was obvious I'd say yes. That guy who made soup and dumplings to lure me to his place when he found out I was sick -- and then once I was there, popped in a movie and then proceeded to squeeze himself closer and closer to me. I kept scooting away, and eventually had to jump up, declare intense feelings of illness, and leave. He did a lot of nice things for me too, but again, I'm only telling you about the parts I didn't like. He's not that bad, I promise.

I ran into him last Sunday. I walked out of the testing center, where we have church, saw two people about twenty meters away -- and then looked at them again because I thought I recognized one as Michael Smith. It was him. I have gotten in the habit of avoiding this man like the plague, but in this case it was too late to avoid him, because we made eye contact, and he exclaimed, "JENNA!"

"MICHAEL!" I yelled back. Well, I was on a spiritual high and felt on top of the world. Nothing could bother me right now. Not even scary guys I am normally terrified of. He had a girl with him, who he introduced to Hillary and I. A little hopeful voice inside of me said, Ooh! Maybe they're on a date! Maybe she's his girlfriend! He told me that he wanted to visit with some of his old friends in Monticello and that he might drop by later.

I mentioned that we were having a Break the Fast at White House North, and that much of the ward would be there. I mean, now that I look back at it, I suppose he might have interpreted it as, Ooh! She invited me to a party! Maybe she likes me!

Whoops...

So, the next day just before midnight, I check my phone to see that I had missed a call from Michael while I had been at FHE. Oh the terror that washed over me. In spite of it, I decided that I should at least pay him the respects of calling him back to see what it was he wanted. I resolved to call him in the morning.

He beat me to it -- wet, dripping, and fresh from a shower the next morning, I shut myself in my room only to find my phone blinking that little red light that means I've missed a call. How odd. No one ever calls me, let alone early in the morning. It was again from Michael, and he'd left a voicemail. In the message, he apologized for not coming to the Break the Fast, and that something had come up with one of his mission buddies. He said he wanted to catch up and left his number. Meh. I HATE calling people.

But... twice. He called me twice. I got ready for class, and then on the way up the hill, I called. I'm terrified of making phone calls, but somehow I succeeded in gathering up the courage to call somebody who scares me to death (be proud of me!). A huge wave of relief washed over me when I reached his voicemail. This means I can get out of having to call again.

Beep!

"Phone tag! You're it!" And with that I hung up. I hate making phone calls. However, I seem to have no problem whatsoever answering them.

Michael called back later that night and proceeded to "ask" if I wanted to go play racquetball.

"Michael," I said truthfully. "I can't do anything tonight. I'm doing homework!" I was also waiting for my home teachers to show up to give me blessing too, but I neglected to mention that, deeming it unnecessary information.

"Homework? Psh. You're still doing homework?" He tried to tell me that it was more important to go play with him than it was to finish my homework or to get enough sleep...

"No, Michael, I can't go tonight."

"Oh come on, you know you want to." And we were back to that game, just like last spring. Oh, if you were here, Michael, I would be this close to slapping your face.

"Michael, I'm doing homework. I'm extremely tired. And I'm expecting my home teachers to be here soon for a blessing. I can't go!"

And he finally let me go. Finally. I have a suspicion it was only because I mentioned that I was waiting for a blessing. I wish I hadn't mentioned that and had instead figured out some simpler way to forcefeed a "no" down his throat. You'd think it'd be enough to say, "I'm busy tonight," or "No." I really can't think of any more obvious way to say no than... well, "no." What more am I supposed to do?

Hm. That was a whole lot of story for a whole lot of no dates. Mleh! That's all right, I suppose. There's always this year!

And now we turn from my social life to my academic life. Which you may or may not care about.

Last semester's grades turned out pretty well. An A- average, ladies and gentlemen! I am so proud of these grades! You should be proud of them too.
A -- psychology, family history
A- -- New Testament, social dance, chemistry
B+ -- tap dance, physics, chemistry lab

This semester? I am SO excited. So. Excited. To qualify as a full time student here, you have to have at least 12 credits, and the most you are allowed to take is 18 credits. Most semesters I'm quite close to the 18 mark. Not the case for this semester! I am taking a mere 12.5 credits this time around. Be proud of me, all!

Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that I don't think this semester will be any less difficult than before. Why you ask? Well... you see... here are my classes!

Neuro 205 (Neurobiology): 3 credits
Neuro 360 (Neuroanatomy): 2 credits
MMBio 240 (Molecular and Microbiology): 3 credits
MMBio 241 (Molecular and Microbiology Lab): 1 credit
Rel A 212 (The second half of the New Testament): 2 credits
Rel C 293 (US & Canada Family History): 1 credit
Dance 184 (Beginning International Standard Ballroom Dance): 0.5 credits

May I now express to you my very excitement? If you could see me, I'd be glowing! Radiating! Despite the early hour of my neuroscience classes, I find my insides dancing with joy when I go to them. They're going to be soooo hard. And soooo fun. Watch out world, here I come.

I know at least 80% have forgotten what I'm studying in the first place, so here's a refresher. I am a neuroscience major. And, as of tomorrow, I have three minors. Psychology, mathematics, and chemistry. I'm also planning on finishing all the pre-med requirements. It sounds like a lot, and I suppose it is, but the thing is, a lot of these requirements overlap each other.

With the neuroscience major requirements, I already have to take all the chemistry minor requirements except for one more... and well, since when did I not jump at the opportunity to take one more chemistry class? Excited? Yes. I am.

Psychology slid nicely into place too. One class also fulfilled a GE requirement, and I have to take four 500-level psychology classes for the neuroscience major anyway (Eeeeeee!!!)... add one more psychological statistics class (ooh, sounds fun) and voila! Jenna has a psych minor.

And the math minor... well... remember that I used to think I was going to major in math? I decided against that. I am two classes away from a math minor. Two! I might as well make all my joyous sufferings in math classes count for something. I love math... but I don't particularly enjoy math classes. So, if I ever decide to drop a minor, this'll be it. But I won't, because we all know that I'm as stubborn as a rampaging baseball bat.

And the pre-med... That's just in case I end up going to medical school, obviously. If I do that, I'm thinking I'll go into psychiatry. Where I'll go to med school - No. Idea. Haven't gotten that far yet.

What else do you people want to know?

Oh. I quit that blasted library job in which I worked till midnight. And... I am still on the job hunt. I wanted to work in the Central Chemistry Stockroom, but that fell through. My next and brightest idea is the Brick Oven Pizza that is practically across the street. And if that doesn't work out... I could do catering for BYU! 'Twould be grand adventures indeed.

Oh! And!

I discovered my nemesis.

His name is Alex Seegmiller. And he doesn't -- like -- hugs. Egad! Oh, how can this be? My personal theory is that he is the victim of a horrid shyness (I have heard him speak a grand total of thirty seven words in the entire semester I think) and hasn't been off his mission quite long enough... oh dear, that's a recipe for disaster. He hasn't quite gotten used to the idea that he can hug girls. Poor guy.

This is made so very much worse with the cruel irony that he is my FHE brother -- which means his phobia of hugs interferes with my absolute need to excitedly yell "BROTHER!!!!" upon sight and attack him with a massive hug every time I see him. He usually responds to this hug with massive surprise (I mean, come on, he hasn't come to expect it yet?) and instantly growing as stiff as a board. Sometimes he falls over. Now that is just bad hug etiquette. It is my personal goal to desensitize this poor chap. Heaven knows toleration of hugs will do him good in his future life. I mean, one day he'll be married! I could save his future marriage! :D

Okay, so I know it is quite unlikely that constantly assaulting him with hugs is going to solve anything. But you've got to admit, seeing that look of pure terror just before attacking him with a hug is great fun. I mean, he'll learn to enjoy it (we all hope for his sake anyway) because if I hold on long enough, his brain'll release endorphins and endorphins'll make him happy.

And I think I'm making progress! He chuckles nervously now instead of hyperventilating in the event of being hugged... and I could swear he doesn't stiffen up quite as much as he used to. And every once in a while, he hugs me back a little! Yes!

My other FHE brother (who is Alex's for-real brother and pretty good-looking, incidentally) is Dan. To think that he is related to Alex is unthinkable. I have the opposite problem with Dan -- during a hug, if you hang on too long, he starts stroking your head. Beware...!

We have some other FHE brothers, but I don't know them very well yet... One is Peter and one is Ivan. Peter is one of those guys that could easily blend into crowds and I can't ever find him to attack him. Plus he's new, so we thought we'd take mercy on him and refrain from attacking him for these first couple weeks. And Ivan... always missing.

We also have an entire apartment full of FHE sisters, which are in the ward directory, but we swear we've never seen them, except for Jenny, who is easy to find, because she's the only one in a wheelchair in the entire ward. And apparently there is another Jenna too. (Oh man. This is just asking for confusion.)

My calling for this semester in church is as a member of the Literacy Committee in the Relief Society. Oh heck yes... basically we get to teach a lesson every once in a while on pretty much anything. Possible topics: how to study the scriptures, study habits in school, family history skills, writing skills, how to write your personal history, computer skills, etc.

Speaking of writing, I send off lots of missionary letters. It is probably one of my most favorite things to do ever. I don't get too many back though. In fact, I fear little brother Clifton is dead. The only problem with that theory is that if he really were dead, his parents might have thought to post news of it on his little mission blog. Ryan isn't dead (but it is very hot in Australia). Alex isn't dead (but we weren't allowed to send him a Christmas package to Malaysia which we didn't think was fair). And, well, I don't think anyone is dead. I think everyone is alive and well...

So, I guess the whole point of this was to explain that I am alive and well. Which I am!

Love,
Jenna

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.

Seizures and Love Letters

Guess what, everyone! I leave on Saturday morning, and I am sooo excited. You all really have no idea. (Perhaps you do, but I will always insist that you don't.) My flight to Salt Lake leaves at 9:40am, so if any of you want to see me, you'll probably have to do it by Friday night, because after that, I'm outta here!

So, as always, you can contact me via email (jennamarie.griffin@gmail.com) or Facebook... or, if you love me extra special, you can call me up (602)577-2899 or perhaps send me snail mail: 366 E. 800 N., Provo, UT 84606. I'll be back for a little longer than a week and a half for Christmas break... not too long though. I'm flying in the evening of December 23rd, and then flying back the morning of January 3rd. And after that? I won't be back until the following Christmas. I don't that'll be too much of a problem, since I think I'm pretty good at keeping in touch. :)

Well, still no good stories. But hey, I can tell you a secret. Or, perhaps it isn't really a secret.

I have an involuntary shivering problem.

I'll be minding my own business, and then, like a Frisbee from the middle of nowhere -- it hits me. I shudder, sometimes violently.

Okay, okay, you say. That happens to everybody. But I say, no! It doesn't! Truthfully, most people shiver only when they have a good reason to... like say, it's freezing. Or maybe something creepy just happened. Or maybe someone sneaked up behind you and blew cold breath on your neck. (Oh, if you don't shudder at the thought, something is sooo wrong with you.)

But I shiver often enough and obviously enough to warrant concern.

I'll be sitting on the couch happily, thinking happy thoughts, being perfectly warm, and then -- graaghglghlgghaa! A series of nerves fire and it's a seizuresque shiver.

You know, it doesn't bother me, most of the time. Except --

Sometimes I shiver over and over and over again in a short period of time. When this happens, the muscles around my spine start to ache and I get a little shaky. But that's okay, it doesn't bother me that bad. Although when it happens on dates, he'll look over at me and nervously ask if I'm okay. It usually scares the living daylights out of whoever he is, even if I assure him this is perfectly normal.

Sometimes this happens: I'll have both my hands in front of me, and suddenly those nerves will fire -- and my arms will tense up -- and more nerves will fire -- and -- SMACK! I've clapped quite loudly, and my hands are stinging. And all this, involuntarily. I can only pray this never happens during a funeral. Or when I'm in the same room as a clap-activated bomb. Or when I'm trying to hide from a killer in a dark room with clapper lights. This could be potentially disastrous, no?

My dad is also quite concerned about this shivering phenomenon. He tells me I should see a doctor or something.

I say, Whhhyyy?! It's totally benign. The worst thing that ever become of it is... hm. Annoyance.

Well, he says, the doctor could give you some anti-seizure medication.

Yes, I say, but why would I want to be taking that for the rest of my life? I couldn't think of a good enough reason. Honestly... I can't stand the sight of blood, so we won't have to worry about me slicing a major artery during neurosurgery or anything.

About a month ago, my dad asked me -- Do you ever shiver like that when you're sleeping and wake up?

Naw, I say.

Never? Are you sure? He proceeds to interrogate me, and I answer truthfully. Soon, I realize... well, yes, I have.

See, sometimes, I wake up suddenly in the middle of night scared to death. I feel like either someone has grabbed me by the shoulders and given me a good, hard shake, or like I've fallen from a few feet in the air onto the bed. I used to attribute this to bad dreams which I didn't remember, but were intense enough to trigger a physical reaction... but... honestly, the shivering thing makes more sense.

Well, of course, my dad would be the first to wonder... What if you're cuddling with your husband and you both fall asleep and then you shiver and wake him up!?

Hm. I'd expect that wouldn't be enough to keep him awake for too long... I don't think that's a disaster. Honestly, if I were him I'd be more worried about wifey stealing all the covers. BAHAHA! And I think many normal couples suffer from the blanket-hog syndrome and the subsequent freezing awakeness of the thus coverless spouse, so I doubt a little shiver now and then would damage our relationship much.

So, all I can say about the shivers is... the condition is much too benign to worry about. Unless that clap thing happens in close proximity to my significant other's face... then I might slap him pretty hard without meaning to. That could damage our relationship much, ya?

Besides. It is obviously a neurological condition. And -- guess what. I happen to be studying neuroscience. What better field than that to have at your disposal if benign ever turns to malevolent. But for now, I feel no need to see a neurologist so I can get anti-seizure medication. All that would really do... is poison my liver. On the other hand... shivers aren't shortening my lifespan much, so I shan't worry about them.

Now for a secret missionary fan club update.

In other news... Clifton... er, Elder Dudley, has recently been stuck in the MTC due to Visa problems. He's supposed to go to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission. Well, he's not in the MTC anymore -- he's been temporarily assigned to labor in the Salt Lake City South Mission. Which I don't mind so much, because that means any letters he sends will still reach me relatively quickly, whereas if he were sending me something from Mexico, I'd probably have to wait for a long time. He sent me a picture of him and a few of his missionary buddies mimicking the Abbey Road cover in the MTC crosswalk. Genius. I shall have to frame it.

Will... er, Elder Budge, is still in the MTC, but he's leaving for Argentina on Monday. Excitement! In less exciting news, some of the other elders in his district... got scavies, and the hermanas in his district... have milk-chugging contests. Mostly he just wants out of the MTC.

And Ryan... er, Elder Strong... has been in Australia for a while. However, I finally got a letter from him. He wrote it almost a month ago, on that eternally long flight from San Francisco to Sydney. He read all ten letters within the first thirteen hours of that flight (in between Preach My Gospel and the Doctrine and Covenants, he assures me). Yikes... that must have been a rather boring flight. :D Thank goodness for email though. His mom forwards emails to me and his other BYU friends. I can tell you that he doesn't like Vegemite; he says it tastes like someone broke a bunch of pens and spread the inky stuff all over his toast. His companion kind of freaked him out at first because he says "I love you" to everyone and their dog, even when they get flicked off. And, most recently, he's pretty much waay excited about preaching the gospel. He loves it, and I'm pretty much jealous that I'm not serving a mission right now.

What else can I tell you?! Hm...

How about Elder Jolley? I can tell you about him. You don't know who he is. Neither do I really. I only recently found out that his first name was Joshua. Before that, for lack of a first name, I called him Oscar. Well, Elder Joshua Jolley is a good story.

I have mentioned my roommate, Rachel, but I don't remember how well I've described her to you. She is rather short. And squirrel-like, definitely, squirrel-like. She makes bizarre noises, and is usually laughing hilariously at something. She often fantasizes about the perfect man -- tall, dark, and ominous (T.O.D.) and preferably a bass or baritone who enjoys serenading. She has a goal to beat the height differential between her parents when she finds her one true love, and her ideal courtship probably involves numerous food fights and contests to see who can make me spray hot cocoa out my nose the farthest. If any of you are Facebook friends with me, look at my videos. There's one entitle, Territorial Dispute. This is Rachel and I fighting over a pillow. Vicious. Like spider monkeys, vicious.

Rachel has a high school friend named Elder Ben Poulsen, currently serving a mission in the Big Apple. Prior to his departure, I talked to him on the phone twice, and met him once (at his farewell). Rachel, Hillary, and I, the terrible trio, wrote him collective letters last semester... Actually, I remember one letter in particular where we all got lipsticks of different colors and kissed the envelope. And then mailed it away, hoping to freak out a few mailmen, Elder Poulsen, and his companion.

Well, at some point during the summer, Elder Poulsen got a companion named Elder Jolley. Rachel was still writing Elder Poulsen, of course. Letters which no doubt were full of random expressions like, "Look! Flaming phoenix squirrels!" "We'll blow up the ocean!" "Hillary and Jenna are Irishmen and I'm an Irishwoman!" "I got Jenna to spray hot cocoa out her nose, all over the kitchen!" "Wakakakakakaaa..."

So...

Rachel phones me and tells me a tale. She's been receiving love letters from Elder Jolley... and some of these letters referred to a future time when they'd be married.

I demand that she tell me everything she knows about him. Everything. Well, she doesn't know what his first name is. Or where he's from. Or anything. All she knows is what Elder Poulsen has told her. And all Elder Poulsen has told her is that the mysterious Elder Jolley takes his pants off at the dinner table. Awkward, yes, but upon reflection... if there exists a girl for a guy like this, it's a girl like Rachel. And at this point I understand why Elder Jolley is sending Rachel love letters.

Rachel was a little freaked out by her not-so-secret admirer, so she sent back an enormous packet -- an "Application to Write Rachel", which also demanded an audition tape and two sources.

I obtain Elder Poulsen's address from Hillary, and send a letter. Demanding to know who Elder Jolley is. And, I add, in lieu of Johnny Lingo, that Rachel is definitely not an eight-cow woman. It's two dragons, or no deal, since I want a dragon and Hillary will want a dragon as well.

I get two letters back... one from Elder Poulsen, who was rather thrilled at getting a letter. He also asked if he might be eligible to win our marriage pan (an entirely different story, which I may tell later) and told me to warn Rachel about Elder Jolley's audition tape.

The other letter was from Elder Jolley. He informed me that his name was not Oscar, but that it was Joshua. He continued to inform me that he was wondering how he was going to get into Rachel's inner circle of friends, but that by writing his companion, I had provided him with a great opportunity. He proceeded to beg me to be his co-conspirator. And he wanted to know what sort of dragon I wanted.

Well, I was tempted to reply back that I would certainly be his co-conspirator. However, upon further thought, I decided that I ought to inquire more about the position before accepting it. Especially after what Rachel said about the package she received from said Elder Jolley. He had filled out the entire application... and provided an audtion tape, where he read the entire book of Deuteronomy. (Holy crap.) She told me he was not eligible to marry her because his voice wasn't deep enough (tenor) and he was a mere six feet tall (too short...). He also didn't seem to be quite ominous enough -- he's mostly just a clown. So sad. They seemed rather perfect for each other. Well, that is it for comical stories for now. Toodaloo!

[Lack of] Adventures in Chandler?

Yes, the emails have stopped for now. People have kind of been asking for "Adventures in Chandler" and that sort of thing... but...

Well, the truth of the matter now is...

Nothing of interest is really going on with me. Life is boring, usually. I have been to church three times down here. I have gone to see Prince Caspian and Wall-E with the Burchfields. But besides that, there isn't a great deal of excitement going on around here.

I have been writing a lot of letters though. I suppose I could tell you about that since a few of you have been asking about my missionary friends.

Yesterday I sent away a few boxes of snickerdoodles to my friends in the MTC... a box to my rather clingy friend Elder Will Budge (Argentina Mendoza Mission, departing the MTC 08/18), a box to my little brother Elder Clifton Dudley (Mexico Monterrey East Mission, departing 08/04), and (of course) a slightly bigger box to my very good friend Elder Ryan Strong (Australia Adelaide Mission, departing 07/14). My son, not-yet-Elder Alex Compton, has not entered the MTC yet, but he will in September. His initial assignment? The Singapore Mission. I am writing quite a few of my other friends too, but I think those are the only ones you might remember.

I get the most letters from my little brother, of course. He has been in the MTC the longest, and before he left, I made him promise something to me... that no matter how busy he ever got as a missionary, that he would write back, at least a few lines (even if it was just, 'Querida mi hermana mayor, I'm alive and the gospel is still true! Love, Elder Dudley!').

So he has. I have gotten a few letters that are extremely short, and some that are decent in length. I am happy to get them all. The other day he even sent me a picture. I can't wait to get back to my little apartment in Provo, and get myself a spiffy picture frame. And then I will put it on the wall for Rachel, Hillary, and I to admire every day. I have sent him two boxes of cookies so far.

His mother also posts his letters on a website for all of his friends to read while he is away, along with other pictures. It is very useful. It even has a nifty countdown on it. Right now it says, "Your missionary returns in 721 days." But I'm not really going to pay attention to that. I wouldn't put it past my Clifton to extend.

Elder Strong has only been in the MTC for about a week and a half, but he has less than a week before he starts the journey to Australia. It is for this reason that he got a slightly bigger box of cookies -- I just don't have the money to send him cookies once he is in Australia (except perhaps for Christmas or his birthday). And besides, I put a few other things in his box. Napkins, duh. Ten letters. And a note of explanation.

Yes, ten letters. Let me explain, perhaps, because that would involve a story I could tell. Perhaps this email won't be quite so boring.

Actually, Ryan and I have been writing each other since long before he left. It started on my birthday. He sent me a letter, and I sent him a letter back, etc, etc, etc, until he went into the MTC. And somehow, mine were always two pages, front and back, handwritten, complete with doodles and drawings.

Apparently he liked them. While on the phone the night before entering the MTC, he said in his excited voice, "Ooh! Jenna!"

"...Yeah?"

"You should send me ten letters." And in a half-joking tone, "All on the same day!"

Incredulous, I responded, "On the same day! That would kill me! You know how long my letters are!"

"Hm..." he said seriously.

"That would be... twenty pages! And not to mention, ten stamps."

"Well... you could write one really, really, really looong one and then split it into ten little ones," he suggested.

I laughed (probably what he was trying to make me do the whole time). "Okay, okay..."

"Ten letters all at once, then," he said, more seriously, but still with a definite joking tone to it. As far as I can tell, this sort of tone means he isn't really joking and that he is very serious about it.

The last time I heard that tone of voice, he wanted me to make a Swedish fish pie... We were on the phone, and he was lamenting about how we couldn't make a Swedish fish pie. Well, I said. You could. Swedish fish in Jell-O in a pie crust so you could see them swimming around, and you could fashion the pie crust out of crushed graham crackers, or even better, crushed Teddy Grahams. I reminded him that it wouldbe purely decorative, and that neither Rachelle nor I would be too excited to eat it. Not when we could make a chocolate creme pie.

"You should still make a Swedish fish pie," he said in that strange serious-joking tone.

Needless to say... I didn't. Well, after that, he showed us up and made his own Swedish fish pie, using my idea exactly. He documented the whole process with pictures for proof that he really did.

As far as I could tell, Ryan really did want ten letters all on the same day, but I don't think I'll ever know if he was actually expecting to get them. To tell the truth, I was kind of afraid of what sort of silly antics he might pull if I neglected his ridiculous request.

So I started to write a really, really, really looong letter. And I finished it. And I couldn't bear to write any more or less than two pages, front and back, handwritten. Quite problematic, especially since that sort of letter is hard to split up into ten smaller ones.

What to do? Ten real Jenna-letters would take a long time to read. Missionaries don't have (or aren't supposed to have) that sort of time.

Well, there aren't a great many things to do to entertain myself with around here. Ten real Jenna-letters. I could do that. So I decided I would write him ten two-page letters. And then it occurred to me that Ryan was in for a very, very long journey to Australia. I then wrote the letters with the intent that he would read them during that very, very long journey.

So that's how it happened. I wrote ten two page, front and back, handwritten letters, complete with (sometimes comparatively exquisite) artwork. (My sisters were also in awe at how small I was writing.) Twenty pages might seem like a lot to you, but believe me -- after surviving IB? It was nothing. Well, not nothing. It took me a loooong time. A whole week and a half, because each letter took (on average) three hours. One took me five hours. But it wasn't difficult, and it gave me a goal, and something to do.

Once done with all ten, it was of course more cost efficient to stuff them in a box with a load of snickerdoodles and send them away. I explained to him when he was allowed to read them (not until he was travelling) and I assured him that it would never happen again (I have to explain that or else he'll ask for twenty next time). I'm sure he'll have plenty of time to read them on the way to Adelaide... In an email forwarded from his mother this morning, he said, "The journey is so long and far that it'll start on the 14th and end on the 16th. I'm leaving the Salt Lake airport and flying to San Francisco, then waiting for five hours, then flying for twenty hours to Sydney, Australia, then waiting for five hours more, then flying all the way to Adelaide, Australia." How long and boring could that be? Hopefully he runs into lots of interested people so that he can tell them about the Gospel and give them pass-along cards and such. If he doesn't, it could make for a very long and boring trip. Especially if he is one of those people who can't sleep on planes. (I hope for his sake that he can.)

Well, I suppose that is all. I'm getting my wisdom teeth pulled on the 17th. Eew. I hope to spend the last few days with a full set of teeth eating all my favorite foods. And maybe I'll write loopy letters to my missionaries after I get them pulled. I have a loopy letter from Ryan that he wrote after his were pulled. It is only fair that he gets one too... I also have a little cavity that they'll be filling. I'm rather bummed about that; I haven't had a cavity before.

I hope to maybe make a pie in the next week or so... it's time for July pie! I'm not sure what sort of pie I'll make though. Just for the record, so far here is the progress on our thirty pies:
1. Apr '08: cherry pie
2. May '08: chocolate creme pie x 2, lemon meringue pie
3. Jun '08: banana creme pie
4. Jul '08: we shall see...
After this month, a whole row on the pie chart Ryan made will be full. We didn't have much to do in May, can you tell?

My sister Becca starts color guard tomorrow. Whoot!

And... besides that, I think there is no more news.

I don't believe I will post again until I am back at BYU, come August 16th. Sorry to disappoint.

One of Thirty.

Sunday finally came. Sunday, the day of pie. Ooh, Cherish didn't even know what was coming to her. And she didn't even know what efforts we were going to to make her this pie. I had gotten my sister to read me the recipe for cherry pie over the phone. And then me and Ryan went to a real grocery store to get the cherries for it... (We split the cherries in half. I paid for two cans, and Ryan paid for two cans. The cashier looked at us funny. Finally, he asked me, gesturing to Ryan, "Why'd you split it up? Why didn't you make him pay for all of it?" I laughed. "Because we're both making the pie, and we're both equally poor!" Hm. This happens to us a little too often. Cashiers get upset that Ryan isn't paying for me all the time when we're just doing friend stuff. Yeesh. I don't know what their problem is...)

After church, Ryan had to go do his home teaching, so I had time to go to my hall meeting before we made the pie. In the middle of our hall picture, Clifton and Alex walked by... Clifton yelled out, "Hey, Jenna! Is your door open?" I blinked. "Yes?" "Okay!" And with that, the two of them disappeared into my hall, presumably to take over my apartment. As soon as the picture was done, I dashed up to my apartment, and straight into the kitchen.

The sight made me sick. Stuff alllll over the place. I had just cleaned this place last night when Ryan was here before we went and got cherries! "WHAT are you doing?"

"Making you dinner! Out!" And with that Alex tried to push me out and shut the door on me.

Nuh-uh. NOT in Jenna's kitchen, you don't. Particularly when I had plans for this kitchen. I think I must have been trembling with a strange mixture of emotions. Shock at the upheaval my kitchen was in, gratitude that my dear guy friends would think to make us dinner, annoyance at their using MY kitchen to do it, and stress from the realization that there was now a conflict between pie-making and dinner with friends. Gaaah. I just spluttered weakly, "My... my kitchen is dirty. It can't be dirty. No..."

Oh, I was tense. Alex looked at me sternly. "Jenna. CALM down. Calm down. You... are REALLY REALLY tense. Calm down. Everything is okay!"

"My kitchen... I... I... I'm making pie? I'm making pie. Except you're using my kitchen. My kitchen. I was going to make pie..."

Oh man. I must have been ridiculously stressed before this, because now I was a nervous wreck. I shivered, and then grabbed my broom, and started sweeping. Then it occurred to me. "Hey! Do you guys have shortening?" We had had shortening yesterday, but then it had been used up in the night and now there wasn't any to make pie pastry with. Alex looked up from preparing his meal. "I do." "Can... can I use it?"

Alex considered, all the while staring at me. "Only if you promise to stop stressing and calm down." Ooh. This is going to be tough. But... I need the shortening. So... it's worth a try at least.

"Okay! I'm calm, I'm calm..." I muttered breathlessly. Well, I wasn't calm and Alex saw.

"No. I don't mean you just say you're calm. I want you to BE calm." Oh man. Alex is a toughie. I was going to have to actually calm down... for real!

I took a deep breath, and it rattled angrily. So I took another deep breath, looking up at the ceiling. I realized suddenly that my fists were clenched. I let them go. And my whole back was as stiff as a board. I forced in into a more comfortable position and held it there until Alex decided I had improved enough. Then he left to go get the shortening. And then I tensed up again and continued sweeping.

Ryan showed up to make pie. I... think I got even more stressed, because right at that time Clifton declared dinner ready. I finished sweeping.

"Dinner time!"

"Wait, right now?" I said, despairing.

"Yes. Right now."

"But. But. I was going to make pie..." After muttering that, I set off to set the table. Clifton made Ryan stay and eat with us. I busily set the table, and then Alex scolded me. "Jenna. Remember your promise."

"What? Oh... yeah, promise. Shortening. Promise." And I took another long breath. But that rattled too. WHY was I so incredibly stressed? I knew why, but I wouldn't let myself think about it. "Not stressed not stressed!" I said. Ryan looked at me with that weird amused look he had sometimes. At least someone wasn't upset with me. I looked behind me to see Clifton standing there making a twirly motion with his finger. I blinked at it. "What?" Then I realized he wanted me to turn around. "Ohhh!" I said, and I obediently turned around, not sure why he would want me to do something like that.

Well, I didn't have to wonder for long. "Come 'ere, sis." Clifton put his arms around me and hugged me. I closed my eyes, but not all the way. What I saw almost made me laugh. Poor Ryan couldn't handle it. He was very pointedly not looking at me or Clifton, and looking down, up, behind him, everywhere except right in front of him where I was being hugged.

I've told you all how Clifton is basically my little brother, and that pretty much sums up everything. He teases us all the time, is really annoying most of the time like a little brother, but every once in a while he'll do something really nice. This hug was one of them. I wonder if he got hug-lessons from one of his parents, because it was just like that... like a family member was hugging you and comforting you. So, naturally, I calmed down quickly. My heart beat slowed down finally, and so did my breathing. I relaxed. When he finally let me go, I felt like a rag doll.

I sat down at the table (next to Ryan, who still wouldn't look at me... haha) and then we said a family-plus-Ryan prayer. After that, Clifton and Alex left, and then Ryan and I set off to make pie.

Well, the dough was interesting. We just couldn't get it right. It just wouldn't hold together. And the attempts to get the pastry into the pan were failures for the first few tries. Finally, we got the bottom in the pan. Ryan prepared the filling while I tried to manage the top crust. I looked over at Ryan filling the pastry. And then I looked away, and then looked back. The pie... had overflowed. "Oh no," he said. "I think I ruined it."

I laughed. Oh, it was SUCH a mess. Some weird cherry-sugar-liquid concoction spread all over the table, and down onto the floor. Perhaps I should have supervised Ryan more closely. Oh well. Whatever he did wrong, he won't do it again. I made him go get the paper towels, and I shoveled cherry stuff into a bowl. I poured the liquid out of the bottom pie crust. And then I put the actual cherries back into the pie.

And then we set to work trying to assemble the top. We did eventually, with the help of Rachelle. Somehow, as we talked the subject turned to... dirt. Like, the information sort of dirt. Rachelle wanted to exchange such dirt with Ryan. Dirt. Like gossip. Ryan wanted to know what the girls have been talking about in their secret girl talk sessions. Rachelle, of course, wanted to know all about what the guys were saying about the girls. I also wanted that, but I hadn't any bartering dirt. Besides, Ryan tells me everything anyway.

Oh dear. Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. He's begged me multiple times to let him in on the girl dirt. And every time, I swear another oath that I never will. Not even when he's eighty. This frustrates him... majorly. He is far too curious for his own good. He'll get himself in trouble. It ended up that Ryan and Rachelle worked out until the deal was, "Okay, if you give me your dirt, I'll give you mine." At this point, I backed out. I looked at Ryan. "I haven't got any dirt. Maybe Rachelle does, but I don't. Nobody gossips with me, because I won't gossip with them."

Rachelle promised she had some juicy dirt. Ryan looked tempted. I knew what Ryan's dirt was, so I warned, "Don't do it, Ryan. She's probably pulling your leg... her dirt's not worth it!" But Ryan wanted dirt, and then happened one of those rare instances where he got frustrated with me. "Jenna!" he exclaimed in exasperation, "Will you just... step outside or something?" I laughed at him. And then Ryan couldn't take it any more. He caved. All right, Ryan, go to your doom if you like. And then, he gave Rachelle his dirt. Unfortunately, this dirt is still gossip I just don't tell people without the subject's permission, so I can't tell you what it was. I know, you're curious. But you'll just have to settle with not knowing.

Rachelle listened intently as Ryan confessed his dirt. Rachelle looked over at me, and then at Ryan. When Ryan was done, he said, "All right. Your dirt. Give it." Rachelle looked up at the ceiling. "Actually... I don't have any dirt. I didn't think you'd actually tell me your dirt..."

Ryan looked stunned. Poor man, I even tried to warn him. And then he was a little upset. "RACHHEEELLLE! You'd better give me ALL the dirt you've got!" Well, she didn't have a single granule of dirt. As we put the pie in the oven, Ryan then turned on me. Looking at me, he said, "Jenna. I KNOW you've got dirt. Give it."

"Dirt? No, I don't..."

"Yes, you do. Remember you said there were some girls talking about me at the beginning of the year?"

"Oh, yeah." I had forgotten about that.

"That's good dirt. I want that. Who was it?"

I rolled my eyes. "Ryan! I told you. I'm never ever going to tell you."

"But... but it's the end of the year! I'll never see them again! It doesn't matter, just tell me!"

"You're right. It doesn't matter. So you just don't need to know. I don't tell secrets, okay!"

Ryan was very frustrated. He rounded on Rachelle again. "You CAN'T tell your roommates."

Rachelle swore she wouldn't. When the pie was done, we carried it over to 128 with Hillary (where Rachelle, Liz, Claire, Patrice, Cherish, and Kerstin all live) and presented it to Cherish, who was delighted. It wasn't the most beautiful masterpiece of a pie, but for a first pie, it was pretty darn good, I think. We sat and talked. And I watched Liz and she practiced her signature. Finally, I said, "Liz. You have beautiful cursive E's... Show me how to do them, just in case I marry someone whose last name starts with one!"

And I think, with that, the conversation turned into girl talk. Ryan listened intently. He even took notes. And then he's ask questions, clarifying what he had heard...

"Wait, so you guys all think Brooks is cute?"

We concurred.

... "Why is he so cute? Is it how he does his hair?"

We couldn't agree on anything like that, except that Brooks was undeniably good looking.

..."Why do you guys like Roy? Is it something he does... Is it something I can do?"

Ryan stayed as long as he could, and then he had to leave so that he didn't break the honor code. As soon as he was gone, though... Rachelle piped up, "Jenna! Can I tell Ryan's dirt?"

I blinked. All eyes were on me. Oh no. I grimaced. "It's not my dirt to give..."

But it was Rachelle's dirt now. Ryan had given it to her, as dirt. When Ryan told me, it wasn't dirt, it was a conversation between friends. But Rachelle had it as dirt. So she told.

And then everyone looked at me for verification once she told. This disconcerted me. Everyone would look at me whenever they need verification about dirt concerning Ryan, because I'd know if no one else did. "Uh..." I said. But my face gave an obvious yes, it's true expression. I watched as their faces changed from skeptical about the dirt to trusting. Gaah! I have such a revealing facial expression when I'm trying to keep something secret. I exploded. "Yes. Really. Quite."

I didn't feel good about that at all. That night I went home and it took me longer than usual to sleep.

So This is Stress.

It... has been an enormously long time since I wrote and email. And I keep putting off writing about my life, because there is soooo much that has happened... and I just don't know where to begin. And every day I wait, the worse it gets. In fact, I'm not sure I remember a lot of what's happened. I haven't actually written anything since looong before the rock, paper, scissors tournament that Ryan, Hillary, and I went to. I didn't even write about that. I just sent pictures.

Well... after the tournament a couple weeks ago... here's what happened. The tournament was over by about five. At about six, Jackie and I went to a passover dinner together, which was hosted by my Isaiah professor. We got home late-ish, and went to bed. Then, on Saturday, Ryan and Rachelle and I went to the temple in the morning to do baptisms. Later that day me and Jackie went to a dance concert, which was spectacular. On Sunday, we had our last Sunday school lesson and our last Relief Society lesson. I don't remember much else about Sunday except that I did get home taught, visit taught, and I did my visiting teaching that day. And then after I was done with visiting teaching that day, I remember coming directly to ward prayer. I showed up right as Ryan was coming down the stairs. I gave him a big hug, and then other people started showing up, and they all got big hugs too. I think I also accidentally sat on Will's hand, and Jackie thought he thought it was significant. I stayed away from Will after that. Then Hillary and Rachel and I were about to leave, but then Ryan and I started talking again (surprise surprise...).

And... he had bad news. He was leaving a whole day earlier than he had told me earlier. Tuesday instead of Wednesday. Gaah! Another day lost! I must have looked devastated or something, because he hugged me again. I didn't let go, and he didn't either until he decided it was too long. ("No longer than fifteen seconds! Longer than that and it's baaad!" ... I swear he counts. I swear. Or at least watches his watch over my shoulder...) Then we decided we had to do something really exciting before going our separate ways after finals. Seemed simple enough, but then... well, life turned into academic h***. Sad day.

Well, Monday after that was okay. But then things got progressively worse. I spent all of Monday attempting to get all sorts of homework and projects done for Tuesday, which was the last day of class. But after classes on Tuesday... it wasn't over. Me and Ryan had our choir concert to go perform in. We did that, and we felt relieved that classes were finally over... but, sad day, it was going to get worse. Wednesday was classless, but not at all workless. I studied and I studied and I studied. And I wasn't going as fast as I would like. Ryan showed up, and said he was going over to my angelic neighbors at 128 to make playdough and he wanted me to come with... but I felt that I had to decline or else fail biology. And about here is when I snapped a little. In a week Ryan would be gone. And I just didn't have the time to go do any silly stuff with him. It was the most frustrating thing I'd ever felt in my life. I was mad at school.

But I got over it just barely enough to sit and read another hundred pages of biology before I dozed off. I woke up early in the morning on Thursday. Looked outside and saw sunshine. And was drawn to it. It was too cold to go out and just sit without a sweater or something, so I took my quilt, my coat, and my biology book and camped out on the grass outside my kitchen window. And read. And read. Robert, my home teacher walked by... "Are you going to the baptism?" Oh. That. There were three Nepalese boys in my ward who were getting baptized this morning. I told Robert I wasn't, giving the excuse that I didn't even know the boys, but I felt another flare of frustration again. I couldn't have gone if I wanted to. I needed to finish reading this biology book about how evolution and religion don't necessarily disagree, and then write an essay about LDS doctrine, evolution, and the views of the Catholic author of this book... all this by 4pm. It was almost 10 am, and I was half-way through that book. And it was a slow read! It was chalked full of ridiculously science-y terminology, and I understood it, but I couldn't skim it. Gaah!

I sat on the grass and read as quickly as I could... a crowd of people in my ward walked by, and I did my best to ignore them so that I could get through this book... but ignoring the crowd was a useless endeavor, especially when one of the is Ryan and calling to you to look up and pay attention to him... "Jeeeeennnnnnnnaaaahh!!!" So I looked up and waved, had a two-minute conversation, and then he ran off to join to mob of people that was quickly disappearing.

After about an hour or so, I had read almost another hundred pages of science-y gunk that I probably would have enjoyed had it not been for that looming deadline jeering at me that I wasn't reading fast enough. It was a darn good thing I had decided to study outside, because it was chilly, and if I had tried to study inside I would have been doomed to have fallen asleep instantly. People started coming back home from the baptism. Lots of the boys stopped and talked to me, and most of the girls just waved. After I had determined to ignore the rest of the passersby, it wasn't long before I noticed two nicely-shoed feet on the grass in front of me. I looked up to see Clifton, my dearest little brother. He inquired as to what I was doing... I explained, and distressed about the evil deadline I had. He sympathized, then asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

I considered carefully within the next millisecond, and replied, "Food?" My stomach was growling angrily at me. Clifton raised his eyebrows. "You want food? Okay." And he disappeared. I didn't have much time to wonder if Clifton actually was going to bring me any food, because then Ryan showed up again, and started talking to me.

"Hey, can I study with you?" he finally asked. I blinked. I wondered if it was a good idea to say yes because I would probably be quite distracted. The speed of my reading would be dramatically reduced because I would be watching him in my peripheral vision instead of staring at the page of words. "Uhh... yeah..." Hm. That wasn't quite what I was trying to say. At all. He eyed me. "Are you sure you won't be distracted?" I looked back up at him. "Nope," I said, meaning that I wasn't at all sure. The stupid thing about questions like that is that a negative answer like that can be interpreted in two ways... no, I'm not sure, or no, I won't be distracted. Well, I think Ryan wasn't sure which I meant, so... "Hm. I know. We won't talk to each other. No words." I nodded. And then he set off to get his books. Oh dear. I am in a strange situation. I have so much I need to do, but I would so much rather be spending all this time with my friend who is going to be far, far away next week.

I spent the next ten minutes trying to stiffen my concentration. I was quite obviously failing in my own mind, judging by the increased occurrence of reading the same sentence over and over again. Ryan came back out, changed out of his suit and tie, and laden with a backpack full of books. He came over. And then he said, "I think I'll go study in the law library. I'm going to meet the other Adelaide missionaries at one and I'm paranoid I'll miss it."

I nodded. "Okay." I was both relieved and saddened by this news.

He started to leave, but then came back. "Hey... do you know how to make pie?"

I looked up again. Hm... "I've made a pie before, yes..."

"Well, I want to make a cherry pie for someone."

I don't know if I've figured out how to read this boy's mind or I just know the way his brain works, but I knew instantly who he was talking about. I mean, Cherish's name sounds a lot like cherry pie. Who else could it be for? "Cherish?" I asked.

He blinked, looking a little shocked. "Yeah... I want to make a cherry pie. For Cherish. Cherreesh."

"Let's make cherry pie, then. On Sunday. After church." He nodded, and the plans were made. He left, and then Clifton came bearing a large, carefully prepared meal. I gave him the biggest, most grateful hug I could manage, and then I read some more, chomping down on that food. After about another hour, I had finished the book, and I came inside and whipped up an essay in twenty minutes. I was so tired of it, that I just sent it away without proofreading. Maybe this is bad, but I'm rather confident in my writing skills... enough that I expect that my first draft is good enough. [It was good enough, it earned me a perfect score... I can't complain, I guess...]

Then I got out some other things and started studying for my Book of Mormon final... study study study.

The next morning, I woke up early. I put on my Sunday clothes, and then Ryan, Rachelle, Liz, and I went to the temple again and did baptisms for a bit. Then... instead of coming straight home, we went and got Krispy Kreme donuts. Half were glazed, and half were the chocolate sprinkle kinds. Ooh, the blessed dozen. Rachelle received them from the drive-through window... and then passed them back to Ryan. It was Rachelle's car, so she requested that we not eat them until we got home. The box... was sooo tempting.

We kept talking about donuts. "Let's stop talking about them! I won't be able to resist them any longer!" So we stopped talking about them. But then gave me a sly look. And started opening the box. I gaped. "No!" I whispered.

He nodded. The sight of those artery-clogging goodnesses would surely break me. So, desperate to keep myself in control, I covered my eyes. "No, no! I won't look!"

Ryan started teasing me now. "Oh Jenna, just one look won't kill you!" I could tell the box was open now. But not because I could see it. It was the aroma. I was getting fatter just smelling it.

And I wasn't alone. Liz and Rachelle gasped. I kept muttering "No, no, no... I won't... I won't..." Finally, Rachelle rolled down her windows. And Liz and Rachelle stuck their heads out, gasping for air.

"Ryan, clooossseee it! Close it, quick!" "No, no, no, I won't look, I won't look, close the box, Ryan, close the box!"

I think he really enjoyed that brief moment of power he had. He closed it, after what sounded like a malicious giggle, which reminded me of my dad when he plays a nasty trick on someone. I opened my eyes. Rachelle and Liz were wafting the remains of the delicious aroma out the windows. We scolded Ryan. "Don't ever do that again!" He didn't, but I could tell he was toying with the idea.

We finally got home. But it was too early for Ryan to come into our apartments... so... donut party in the lobby! We sat and talked and ate donuts and drank milk for an hour. And then Liz and Rachelle went inside their apartment, and then me and Ryan came to mine. With that, we studied Book of Mormon for an hour together, and then we headed down to the Wilk to take the final. I got a 96% on it, and then I sat down on a cushy couch and studied Isaiah for several hours. Then I took that final. By this time, it was about five. I got dinner, and then I studied calculus for about an hour and a half. Then I went and took that final. By the time I was done, I'd been studying and testing for twelve straight hours. It... was horrendous.

To tell the truth, what was motivating me this whole time was the thought that maybe, just maybe, if I got all my finals done today and tomorrow, I'd be able to spend time with my best friend before he left and not feel guilty that I wasn't studying. So I came home, emailed Ryan, showered, and went to bed.

In the morning, I woke up and pulled out my biology almost immediately. I studied for about an hour. I was determined to take biology and then physics today. But then Cute Mike came up the stairs. Cute Mike is in my biology class. I declared my intentions to take the final today, on Saturday! But Mike gave me a bewildered look. I thought the final was scheduled for 7pm on Tuesday! I blinked. And it all came crashing in on me. Cute Mike was right. I couldn't get all my finals done before Ryan even left. Tuesday was when Ryan would be leaving. And I would be taking a final.

Blast it all. Cute Mike left. And I sat in the lobby, stunned. My plan. It failed. No! And at about this point... I lost all motivation to study. The motivation worked when I thought the plan was feasible. But now that it was foiled, I saw little purpose in studying or taking any finals today. Gaah! I finished the power point review slides, and then I stopped studying. And then I determined that I wasn't going to do any more school stuff until Tuesday anyway. That gave me Saturday, and Sunday, and Monday. Three whole days.

I still felt a little sick though. If it could have worked, my original plan would have been so much better. In fact, I think that Ryan was trying to do the same thing... I mean, no one ever takes three finals in one day. I did. And apparently (according to his email) so did Ryan. And he had been planning to take his other finals today, just like I had. Gaah. I think I sat and cried a little. After the tears stopped coming, I went home, and cleaned. And cleaned... the way I do when I'm really stressed.

And after that... I wasn't sure what to do. So... I paced. And paced. And paced. Until there was a knock at the door.

It was Ryan... I let him in. "Hey, there's a basketball game in the court outside... Wanna go to 128 and ask to watch it out their window?" Hm. 128 has a perfect view of the court. But... I didn't have any interest in the game at all. Gaah.

I wanted to spend time with Ryan, but at this point I was too stressed to feign an interest in his proposed activity tonight, which made me feel absolutely hopeless. I sighed. "Ryan... I don't really want to watch basketball right now. So, if you really want, you can go over to 128 by yourself and watch it with those girls."

He stared at me. "But I don't want to watch the game."

I gave him my most confused look. "... But it was your idea..."

"Uhh... I just thought it would be fun to show up at their door and say, 'Hey. We're here to watch the game.' And I thought Jenna would want to go do something silly like that. And I wanted to go do something silly with Jenna."

I laughed. "Yeah, I would enjoy that. But then we'd have to go in and watch the game!"

He reconsidered. "Oh. Yeah. You're right. Hm. Well, me and 128 made playdough the other night. Let's go get it and play with it." So we knocked on their door, inquired after the playdough, took it, and returned to my apartment. (Gaah... I wrote our apartment... Ryan doesn't live here... he jokes like he does, but he doesn't!) And then we played with playdough for hours and hours. And then we returned the playdough, and Ryan went home.

Dances and Mission Calls.

Well... Friday afternoon was a tad stressful if I recall correctly. See, for Easter weekend, I had plans to go to my Auntie Aella's house. And I absolutely abhor having to do homework while I could be having some happy bonding time with relatives I don't see that often. So... mad rush to do homework. Mad, mad rush. Then Clifton called... "So... you can come over to my place at seven and we can have dinner... Or, I can just come get you around seven-thirty and we can walk over with Zach and Dallin and their dates." Well, of course, I'm sure you know which option I picked. Gimme the free food any day. Clifton made a nice pasta vegetable dish with a cheese sauce (yes, I'm sure my cheese-hating daddy cringed at that... but I thought it tasted good...). Zach and his date Karissa also shared in the pasta-y goodness. Dallin and Emma had already eaten, so they left before we were done and got to the dance before us. We finally set off to the distant Richards Building after the sun went down.

We were walking over, talking and teasing each other merrily when my cell phone goes off. "Oops," I say. "That's mine..." But the truth be told... it wasn't exactly oops. I left the ringer on purposely. I mean... when you know one of your bestest best friends is opening his mission call at his grandparents' house and you've made him promise to call you immediately thereafter, you kinda end up making sure you don't miss that call...

Clifton kinda looks at me. I tell him, "Ooh! Ryan just opened his mission call!" And of course, since Clifton is also a friend of Ryan's, I am definitely obliged to answer. The four of us were deathly curious. I answer and start what was about to be one of the silliest phone conversations I've had in a while, excluding ones I've had with family members. "Hello?"

"Uh... hello! Jenna?"

"Hey, Ryan." My, this is progressing slowly.

"Are you at your aunt's house?"

"No."

"Are you... on the freeway going to your aunt's house?"

"No."

"Are you... at home?"

Oh, the guessing game is it? Fine, I can take the Burger King route. Have it your way. "No."

"Are you on BYU campus?"

"Yes." You silly goose. I know you opened your mission call.

"Oh. Okay. Well..." And finally it came bursting out. "I opened my mission call! I'm going to the Australia Adelaide Mission! English speaking!"

We express our mutual glee. Meanwhile, Clifton, Zach, and Karissa are watching me intently. "Oh... Ryan? Can I tell Clifton?"

"...Are you with Clifton?"

... "Yes... And Zach and Karissa..."

"Karissa Wainwright?"

"Yes."

"And Zach Smith? And Clifton Dudley?"

"Yes, Ryan."

"... Are you at 116?"

"No."

"Yeah. You can tell them." I tell them. There are cheers of glee.

"...Where are you?"

"At the crosswalk."

"Oh... the one you'd cross to get to the HFAC or the Wilk?"

"Yes."

"... Where are you going?" My, you're inquisitive today.

"To a dance."

"A dance?" Very inquisitive.

"Yes."

"...Is it the same one Dallin and Emma are going to?"

"Why, yes. It is. He's already over there, and we're meeting him there..."

"Oh. Yeah. I should call him."

At this I raised my eyebrows... I wanted to say, What? You haven't told your roommate yet? "Yes. You definitely should. Right now."

And he did. And when the four of us finally met up with Dallin and Emma, Dallin and Emma were beaming. (The other four of us were too, but Dallin didn't notice, he was beaming too much.)

"I have news! I have news! Ryan's going to Australia!"

At this, Clifton took on his smuggest posture, and replied, "We know. He called Jenna." Thankfully, he did not add "before you" because that probably would have resulted in endless teasing for poor Ryan. Haha.

And then... the dancing began. Clifton is a whole level higher than me in dancing skill. But... he had promised to teach me some spiffy moves. The first song was a foxtrot. And that first time mostly he just scoped out what I knew. And then the next two songs... were also foxtrots. Since I was in a beginner's dance class, I hadn't ever really danced with a guy who really knew what he was doing. I learned a little about dance position... I knew that my left hand was supposed to fit nicely underneath the guy's right bicep. But apparently I was supposed to kind of push on him, because that would make it easier to lead. And apparently, my right hand tends to grip rather tightly on the guy's left hand ("Yeah, you're holding my hand a little tightly, but no matter! I like holding girls' hands!" "Clifton!"). And then a cha cha came on.

All right, I think I can pretty much do the cha cha. We did some basic moves, going through random moves like the parallel breaks, the sweetheart... and then we came to the cross body leads. This involves Clifton moving to the side, essentially opening the door for to whip around him. At least I'm moving quickly enough that I feel like whip. The stupid thing is, it's my favorite move and guys generally aren't good at leading it, so I don't get to do it often. So I was excited. Whip! Whoot.

As I execute the cross body lead, Clifton says, "Ooooooh..." And he does it again. And again. And again. All right I think I'm getting pretty good at this. Now Clifton starts giving me some more pointers. "All right. On the cross body lead, take really tiny steps on the cha-cha-cha, and then shoot forward on the second beat. In fact, don't move at all."

I do it. And... it feels even more whiplike. Yesssss. Clifton decides I'm good at the cross body lead, and so starts teaching me higher level steps similar to that. I'm not sure what they were called, but they invovled a lot of twirling as well as what I like to think of as whip action. Niiiice.

Then there were some waltzes. Clifton figured out what I knew, and then he endeavored to teach me some more moves. He taught me some pivots, and then... there was this one. It was actually quite scary for me, because basically... it involved spinning around and around and since I obviously am not the one leading that step, it is kind of like a mini-rollercoaster ride. It was rather disorienting, but Clifton was determined to get that one right. (I suspect he likes that move because spinning kind of means that the lady is closer to the man than usual... and holding on tighter than usual...) I'm not sure we ever did get it down. Whatever.

Clifton also taught me the basic steps for the nightclub two-step, the mambo, and the samba. We did a bit of swing too.

The last dance was a cha cha, in which Clifton did a lot of the cross body lead and the really twirly moves he'd taught me. When it was over, Clifton turned to me and said, "Jenna. You have the best cross body lead I've ever seen in a first-level student. Ever." Oh, yay! I'm actually good at something!

We all walked home, grabbing cupcakes from party-goers trying to get rid of some extra food. The cupcakes were mega-chocolatey so we stopped by Clifton's place for milk, and then he escorted me home. How kind of him, I don't think I would have made it home otherwise. I mean, you never know when those velocibears and badger-raptors will come out and eat you.

This Week in Other News.

Sunday

I went home before Sunday School in church because I wasn't feeling quite so good. I came home and crashed. I slept until later at night. I woke up and did some visiting teaching... Then I went to ward prayer. I took my customary place on the stairs. Ryan came an sat on top of the recycling bin next to the stairs, so we were at about the same level. Clifton*, my little brother... randomly came up and started talking to me. "Jenna. You should ask a guy in your dance class to the social dance club dance on Friday night... because the guys in your class probably won't know about it, and you should go."

I blinked at him. "Uhh... okay." I grimaced a little, going through all the guys in my dance class. The ones I get along with best seem to have girlfriends... and then there's Scott, who is just a little awkward. Oh joy, Clifton. I really don't want to ask anyone.

Clifton switches topics quickly.

"Which girls have formal dresses in our ward?" At this question, Ryan also perks up and starts paying attention. Apparently, this is valuable information.

"Uh... well, for sure I know that I have one... Rachel has one... Hillary has one... Jackie has a few... Why?" I ask suspiciously.

"Oh, just that Invitational is coming up."

... "What's Invitational?" Well, apparently Invitational is a formal dance for Heritage Halls. And Clifton really wants to wear a tux, which would only be appropriate with a girl wearing a formal dress. Ah, now I understand. It would be useful to know which girls have formal dresses, so that guys with tuxes or access to/ funds for renting tuxes can ask those ones. Tuxless guys would go for the girls without formal dresses. How... sensible. By the time I ward prayer was over, Ryan and Clifton had convinced me to compile a list of girls in Robison Hall with formal dresses. ("Haha, you know which girls we like!" ... And it was true...) Ay, caramba.

And then Clifton switched topics again. "Hey, Jenna."

"What?"

"On second thought, I'll just take you to the dance on Friday. Just wear the same stuff you wore for DanceSport yesterday. What dances have you learned so far?"

"Oh, okay... Uhhh... foxtrot, cha cha, some waltz, and just very very basic swing..."

"That's okay. I'll teach you what you don't know. And you can meet my sister!"


Monday

St. Patrick's Day! Or at least it was until the Pope announced that it wasn't. Whatever. We still celebrated. We all wore green.

I was doing homework in the MARB as usual, when Ryan and his classmates vacated my next classroom. I was about to pack up... and then Ryan was back. He had turned around and come back. Apparently his next class was canceled. He wanted to sit and study with me... but my next class hadn't been canceled. He looked a little... I don't know... mildly distraught. "Are you okay? Tired, or something?"

"Oh. I... haven't been feeling particularly well..." There was a pause. "And my mission call comes this week..."

"Oh! Wednesday or Thursday?"

"Yeah... yeah... Wednesday or Thursday..." I think that might explain his pallor. Nerves.

"Well, I need to go to class. You should find a more comfortable place to hang out... The MARB isn't the coziest of buildings... Maybe try the Talmage or something..." I sat and tried to think of places with cushy chairs.

"Well, I think the Madsen Recital Hall is empty now. It should be... I mean, that's where my next class usually is..." Definitely full of cushy chairs. So he left and I went to class.

For FHE, we had a combined "family" dinner, in which all the food was green. I made ridiculously green rice krispies treats that stained our tongues green. Mmmm. The main course was pasta with green alfredo sauce. Weird.


Tuesday

I tested the cha cha... and I did all right, I think. Except Scott, my partner... wasn't as skilled as Matt. I had to count in his ear just so he wouldn't get off beat. Ugh. How frustrating.

After my Isaiah class, I came home... and I was feeling a tad ill again. Well, more than a tad. I fell asleep. I accidentally slept through my Irish dance class... whoops. I was kind of conscious again later, and I could tell without looking at the clock that I had missed class. I was kind of half-conscious and such... Trying to convince myself that it was a good idea to get out of bed. I mean, I was a little hungry. And I felt perfectly fine now.

Then my door opened. Hillary poked her head, kind of noisily whispering, "Is she still asleep? I don't know she's awake... Oh, I think she's still sleeping... Sorry..."

Sorry? What, did I have a visitor? Argggggghhhh... I pulled myself out of bed. At the very least I should get something to eat. I open up my door again and poke my head into the world outside. "Who opened my door?" Ooh, I sounded groggy.

Hillary drooped. "Oh, I'm sorry! It was me!"

I blinked so that I could actually see. Oh look, Ryan is waving at me. "Oh, hi... What are you doing here?"

"Uhh... what are you doing here?"

"Uhh... I live here."

Then he got a little playful. "No, I live here." Practically.

"Ryan, I think that's against the honor code. You wouldn't want to break the honor code, now would you? Hahaha..."

"Oh no, I wouldn't be breaking the honor code. All of you would be breaking the honor code for living in my apartment. But because I'm a nice guy, I go sleep over in that place over there every night so you guys can stay here."

"Oh, how thoughtful of you."

Well, I was ridiculously hungry. And I wanted curry rice. Desperately. I pulled out the ground beef and set to cooking it. Ryan came and watched, curious as always at this thing we call cooking. "Is that how you cook frozen hamburger meat?" "Yes." "...You scrape off the the browned meat on one side and then flip it?" "Yeah." "... And then scrape the browned meat on that side?" "Yes, Ryan." "Oh. ... ... How do you stop the meat you scrape off from burning while you're cooking?" "Well, you just stop it from getting dry... so make sure the heat isn't all the way on high, and if it still seems like it's gonna burn, put a bit of water in it..." "Oh." And at this point, I came to the realization that I was missing an ingredient. I handed the spatula to him. He blinked at it. I told him, "I'm going to the Creamery to go get something I forgot. Finish this." And... I left. And I just kind of hoped that my meat would still be edible when I came back. I was back in nearly a jiffy, and I came back to find Ryan... running around the garbage can outside my place. Suspicious. I wondered what horrendous thing had happened to my food. I started walking up the stairs again. He ran past me so he could open the door for me. I came inside, came to the stove... and oh look. It lives. In fact, it was rather perfect. And, the burner had been turned off, and the pan moved to a cooler spot so that the meat wouldn't burn. I couldn't have been prouder.

After Jackie, Rachel, and I ate (Ryan had already eaten), Ryan decided he was going to teach me some racquetball. We walked over to the Richards Building, got our equipment, and then climbed into a racquetball court. Thankfully, Ryan didn't care that I wasn't too good at it, because he wasn't too good at it either. He taught how to hold the racquet, and mostly we just bounced the ball off the walls as hard as we could. Then we got kicked out by some people who had reserved the court, and we went home.


Wednesday

Not much happened. I went to all my classes... but Book of Mormon had been canceled because we had a midterm this week. Ryan and I studied for it for about an hour when we'd usually have class. As we were walking over to the testing center, Ryan looked rather nervous.

"The test shouldn't be too bad if it's anything like last time..."

He nodded, but I don't think he was really paying attention. After a few minutes, he finally said, "My mission call came today... Don't tell anyone. It's a secret."

"A secret? Why, you want to tell everyone yourself?"

"I don't know. I just don't want to tell anyone."

"... Have you even opened it yet?"

"No. No. I'm going to wait until Friday. I'm going to open it with my grandparents. On Friday."

He really did seem a little out of it.

"And I might tell you where I'm going."

"... Might?" I demanded. "You'd better tell me where you're going! Or else..."

He smiled. And we took the test. (I missed one! :( Sad day!) And then I went to orchestra. Then I went home. And slept.


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* Clifton is going to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission, reporting June 4th. Dallin, Ryan's roommate... is going to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission, reporting June 4th. My biology class friend Ben is going to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission... reporting... you guessed it, June 4th. Whoa.