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.

Fall 2008 -- Meet the Roommates.

Here comes the start of a new year. I don't remember what I've told people about the upcoming madness, but here is what I'll be studying this semester... chemistry, physics, psychology, family history, the New Testament, tap dance, ballroom dance, and flexibilty. I'd say that's pretty well-rounded, eh?

I am again living in Monticello. This is the same place I was living for spring term. My room houses six girls: me, Rachel, Hillary, Shannon, Haylee, and Aubrey. We are all in our second year at BYU, except for Shannon, who is in her third. Rachel and Hillary are the same nutcases I lived with last year; Shannon, Aubrey, and Haylee are all new roommates.

I am also employed again. Among the jobs that had flexible enough hours to fix with my crazy class schedule were these: MTC dishroom worker, catering, and custodial. And I am kind of ashamed to say that the custodial job attracted me like a moth is attracted to a fire. I know! The last one I had was way too early to be considered humanly possible! Not to worry though. I work at nights and not in the early morning. And it shouldn't have that great of an impact on my social life because I have Friday and Saturday nights off -- two very important nights for BYU students to have available, if you know what I mean. I do work on Sunday, but I thought about it quite a bit, and I decided that would be alright.

The truth of the matter is, even BYU can't just shut down on Sundays. On Sundays you just have to remember not to take the task of cleaning up campus too lightly. You have to remember that the mission of the custodial crews is to create an environment where everyone has the opportunity to learn and feel the Spirit. I figure that's okay to do on Sunday, especially in dedicated buildings.

So, I work Sundays from 7pm to 10:30pm, and Mondays through Thursdays from 8:30pm to midnight -- in the library -- the Harold B. Lee Library. By far, the biggest building on campus, with the longest operating hours. Some of you older people may think those hours are a little late. I'm a college kid. Since spring term I've been up that late anyway. And my classes don't start until later in the morning, so I shouldn't be too sleep-deprived.

One major plus is I get to hear the cool closing music every night. [Just before closing, someone blasts some sort of music over the loud speakers so that everybody stops studying and leaves.] An even bigger plus? My pay... is pretty impressive for a custodial worker. I get $8.81/hr. And, since I worked six months last year in custodial, in two months I am eligible for a twenty cent raise... which means $9.01/hr. That's definitely not so bad... less Ramen and more steak... And, on Thursdays, we have... er... what we call "training meetings"... in which we all chill and eat food and watch a two-hour movie. While we are still being paid. I think this job may be a good thing.

Well, meet my roommates. [Disclaimer: I have only recently met Shannon, Haylee, and Aubrey. My descriptions of them may not be entirely accurate. Not even my first impressions are entirely accurate... :) ]

First, Rachel, from Bountiful, Utah.

Rachel's dad describes Rachel, Hillary, and I as three squirrels in a box with one nut. And possibly one video camera. Some of you have witnessed the variety of noises I can make. Rachel can do all of these in a much more squirrelly fashion than I can. However, over the course of the past year, we have pretty much invented a secret language. I am not entirely sure how to describe this to you. Perhaps some language samples?

Standard greeting... "Eeeeeeeeeeeee buuuuddeeee!" Repeat as desired. Can last for up to ten minutes. Common question... "Yabbadet?" This is translated as, "You have a date?"

And here is a conversation. Hint for interpretation: Speak aloud when reading. Other hints for context: I was considering working at Scoreboard Grill, in catering, or Brick Oven Pizza. Pudding is code for adventure. And there was a cute guy at Scoreboard Grill whose phone number Rachel wanted to acquire somehow.

Rachel: "Heh, mebbeewen'yoo gittajahba' dat skohbohd'pless, wee'shavv summpudd'ns! Bweehee!"
Me: "Butsai wansa jahba'n ketring'orit brikuven pitsuh. Isa'needs moola."
Rachel: "We'dasstoo. Akae, igissyakin gitajahbwe'rrya waht. ... Hirreekinn'giddajahbad sko'bohd!"

Congrats if you understood that.

Rachel is rather short... and, er, how shall I say? Compact weight. She has brown hair and green eyes and hands with short, little fingers. And she has quite a deep voice. She can hit lower notes that most of the men in my ward. In fact, my sister Becca was able to recognize Rachel on the phone because it sounded like I was talking to a man. She is also pretty darn tough. She chucks packages for a living... in FedEx Ground. Advice from her... Packages are filthy. Who knows where they've been. Scrub your packages, people!

Rachel writes... um... interesting stories in her free time, featuring pheonix-squirrels and tall, dark, ominous men whose hiccups sound like, "YOU'VE GOT FIVE SECONDS TO RUN!" She routinely comes up with crazy characters and then traps then in department stores and slowly kills them off. One by one. She has also studied war and weapons extensively (she even took History of Warfare last semester) and can write amazing battle scenes.

Rachel's current major is Food Industry Management. After graduating, she hopes to go on a mission, complete culinary school... and, as potential careers, she is considering the following: blacksmith, taxi driver in New York city, and Disneyland chef. Her dream house is a grain silo.

Her current suitor is a missionary who she has never met in New York, by the name of Elder Joshua Jolley. I mentioned him before. He sent her a tape recording of him reading aloud all of Deuteronomy 1 as well as three letter of recommendation. (Imagine that! Getting a package FROM a missionary. One you don't even know...). However, Rachel has rejected his proposal of marriage on the grounds that he is only six feet tall and his voice is higher than hers. Also, he is not nearly ominous enough, and he signs his love letters, "85% serious."

Second roommate -- Hillary, from North Salt Lake, Utah.

Hillary is slightly taller than Rachel. She has long, mousy heir and glasses. And, out of all of us, she is probably the most hyperactive. By far. She had ridiculous ADD and is a packrat. She is also likely to have seen every cartoon ever broadcast on the planet Earth. It is virtually impossible to get a hold of her on Saturday morning because she is likely to have been swallowed up alive by the incidence of Saturday morning cartoons. She especially likes the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. She dreams about them.

Despite her ADD and obsession with TMNT, which sometimes prevent her from studying most effectively, Hillary is brilliant. She aspires to do something in the medical field -- last I heard, it was an orthopedic surgeon. Although she has the soul of an angel, this slightly concerns me. I have visions of her randomly remembering some urgently exciting thing she saw on TMNT and bursting into story -- and then having an assistant remind her... "Um, Doctor? We're in the OR, remember?" Bless her soul, but I hope she never operates on me. I'd be in there forever because she'd keep forgetting that she was performing a surgery.

Although Hillary is going through all the pre-med classes, she is an English major. She loves, loves, loves to write. Sometimes, at night, she'll bolt upright with an idea, jot it down, and go back to sleep. Her pet piece of work right now involves a twin-sworded warrior woman by the name of Haika... who won't kill anyone. How that works, I don't know. She likes to knock people out... with... the... hilts... of... the... swords... Riiiiiiigggggghhhhhttttt...

Hillary is an angel, and couldn't ever hurt anyone. Not even on paper. She is awfully sweet, but is sometimes overly concerned for our health. She has been trained in first-aid and emergency response, so if any of us were to be injured, she is bound by law to tend to our injuries. At least that's what she says when trying to convince us not to do something stupid. She also likes to pile corn and asparagus onto our plates at dinner time. And, she has a strange habit of telling me as I drag myself out of bed how beautiful I am... but only when I am groggy. I am wondering if she thinks telling me that when my brain is half-conscious will somehow get the message "I am beautiful" into my subconscious...

It is because of Hillary that I cannot marry Ben Poulsen. Rachel thought it was a swell idea, but I reminded her that Hillary is desperately in love with him. [Not to mention that I've only met him once. At his farewell.] Although she would never be able to purposefully murder me for marrying the man she loves, she would probably attempt it and fail three times. And then, purely by accident, she'd somehow kill me through some outlandish method. I would die a horrible death drowning in hot cocoa because she made me laugh too hard while drinking it... and then poor Ben would be devastated by the violent death of his wife.

Shannon, from Mesa, Arizona.

Shannon is the roommate I share a room with. Like Hillary, she is majoring in English. She is short and slender, and has a round face that she has somehow managed to perfectly frame with short, brown hair. I met her on Monday. As far as I can tell thus far, she is a perfect little package of goodness. She is extremely neat and tidy. Somehow, no matter how I try to make my bed perfectly, the perfection of her bed makes my bed look messy.

She is kind of shy and dreadfully afraid of inconveniencing people. This may prove to be a problem, because I have a similar phobia. I am afraid that if there were ever a disagreement between us, it would never be addressed, because both of us would be too dreadfully shy to bring it up. However, I expect Shannon and I will get along quite well. Out of the blue one morning we began to talk a bit about the gospel and families and such. I spilled all my deep, dark secrets.

I am a little mystified at this. I can count on one hand, with fingers left over, how many people I've told my deep, dark secrets to. And usually I didn't tell them a thing until I had watched their every move for months. And somehow I was okay with telling her some of the things I hide after knowing her for three days. I don't know. I suppose you could say that things are just clicking into place.

Haylee, from Sandy, Utah.

I met Haylee on Thursday night. I have to crack her thick shell and see what sort of person is under there. She seems a bit shy and rather reserved. She, like the rest of us, has brown hair and pretty brown eyes. She was going to major in Accounting, but decided instead on Information Systems.

However, she seems easy to get along with, and, quite importantly, not judgmental. Which in all likelihood means will get along with everyone fabulously.

Aubrey, from somewhere in Australia. I keep forgetting exactly where, but I suppose it doesn't matter too much to me since -- in all likelihood -- I am likely to never get to go there.

So -- of course -- she has one of those remarkably cool accents, plus a fairly deep and pleasantly husky voice to make it even cooler. If Australian chocolate had a voice, it would sound like Aubrey. She's got curly, brown hair with hazel eyes although she isn't very tall. Pretty much, all I can say about her is that she's gorgeous.

From the looks of things, she cooks quite a bit. She has quite the arsenal of spices... we had to move our spice collection to a larger cupboard. Haylee reports that Aubrey has pretty much been all over the world. She has the souvenirs to prove it, including exotic cookbooks which she uses pretty often. Among her other souvenirs from her world travels are some exciting clothes. She has an outfit with poofy pants reminiscent of Princess Jasmine's. And a matching scarf.

She is majoring in Middle Eastern Studies, I think, or something close to it. She speaks a little bit of Arabic and is learning Hindi this year. She writes her shopping list in Arabic.

Personality-wise... I haven't gotten to see much of it, except that she doesn't talk that much.

EXCEPT...

Haylee and Aubrey were roommates last year in Gates Hall. They know each other quite well. Together, they are a perfect pair of extroverts. But alone, they don't talk much.

That wouldn't be so bad, except they have a tendency to isolate themselves in the room they share. Which means the rest of us run the risk of never getting to know them due to never seeing them. I fear that I will be living with two strangers for all of the next two semesters. Especially since what I have seen of the two of them... suggests I wouldn't enjoy a lot of activities we might share.

Haylee and Aubrey appear to be the perfect stereotype of girly girls at first glance.

They went shopping today, spending hundreds of dollars without half a thought. Our apartment is now fully stocked with decorations, a fish, and fairy lights. So I now know I can't ever go with them when they go shopping. I won't be able to buy ANYTHING compared to what they'll get. I would be exposed as a pennypincher instantly.

Their bedroom is interesting. Pink. With a wall devoted to pictures of, in their words, "hot men..." Mainly guys who star in chick flicks and Disney movies and such.

It also appears that they're obsessed with how they look, although Haylee is much more self-conscious about it. They have to be wearing something in style and gorgeous. I've never seen them not wearing makeup, even in the early morning or late night...

Haylee runs and hides if she's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, apologizing profusely for looking like a hobo. At this I blink. Look at her. And marvel. She's apologizing for looking prettier than I probably will on my wedding day. I don't understand. I really don't.

Perhaps it is strange to feel like this... and I know I shouldn't ever feel like this, but truthfully, it kind of freaks me out. It makes ME want to apologize and go hide in my room for looking like a hobo. I mean, I'm not always wearing makeup. I'll even go out of the house and into public, all day, without it. And the sort of clothes Haylee apologizes for looking like a hobo in, are nicer than the majority of items in my wardrobe.

So... I don't know. Haylee, Aubrey, and I will have no problem coexisting peacefully. They seem to be easy to live with. However, developing a friendship might be harder, especially for me. They're so different, and I have yet to find something I have in common with them, except perhaps being female, enjoying good food, and requiring cleanliness. I'm a little nervous.

In fact, I am nervous about this entire semester in general.

We'll see. I hope it works out... Wish me luck.

Love, Jenna the Queasy.

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!

Could my life be any more... random?

I've got a lot of random things to tell you about... including a potato gun, a spaz trip to Salt Lake, the lack of hat-wearing to ward prayer, and the occurrence of chocolate cake.

Well... here's the thing. We poor college students are surrounded by snow. It's really cold. And there is a TON of snow. What would you do? Build a snowman? We did too! Make snowangels? We did too! Throw snowballs? We did to-- Oh. Wait. We DIDN'T. I know how much your jaw just dropped. I hear the wheels turning in your head... What? No snowball fights? None at all?

A note of explanation. It is currently against Provo city law to throw snowballs. It's against the honor code to do illegal things... and thus, no one throws snowballs for fear of getting kicked out of the university. It really is quite depressing.

I was going to go on a date with Ryan sometime this weekend... we were going to go bowling and get pizza. But... we forgot. You'll understand why (besides the fact that it's finals week) shortly.

Ryan and I were feeling that widespread depression resulting from the inability to throw snowballs acutely. Furthermore, somehow Ryan had gotten the idea that he didn't have a hobby (besides exploring the campus grounds) and he needed one. He wasn't taking any of my suggestions seriously (he didn't think he'd be too spectacular at sword fighting and he thought he was too poor to go skydiving for a hobby). Then he got desperate, and we started surfing the Net for random hobbies that poor Ryan could take up. He stumbled upon a video of some kid firing a... spudgun? Oh goodness. That's right! A potato-firing device of grand proportions.

The two of us watch the produce accelerator with rapture. We pretty much are thinking exactly the same thing at this point. He looks over at me, and says, "Jenna. We HAVE to build one of those." We start the initial plans for our weapon of mashed destruction immediately (at which point we both forget about the date). Since us poor college students have no power tools... we'll have to crash in North Salt Lake at his grandparent's house (more specifically the garage) which has everything we could possibly need. Hillary'll have to come with us, because she has a car, and at the end of day, us two girls can crash at her house... half a block away (how convenient). Ryan already figured out exactly where the nearest Home Depot is too. Pretty much... we are way too excited for our own good. The thing is, we can't tell too many people about this... because then EVERYONE would want in on it.

Well, the next morning I wake up to see Rachel and Hillary packing... Wait, WHAT? Why? Why are you leaving me? I put on my best sad face at their departure, when... "Hey, Jenna! You should come too!" Oh!

"Where are you going?" Well, they were going to their homes... so that they could go to a missionary farewell the following morning. Upon further inquiry, I discover that this almost-missionary is Ben. At one point about two months ago, Rachel and Hillary were moping about because their friend Ben from high school had promised to come over, and... he hadn't. And this was the third time this had happened. Furthermore, Hillary is pretty much head-over-heels in love with this mystery Ben. So. I steal Rachel's cell phone. Browse through the contact list. "Ben Poulsen?" Is this the Ben? They nod forlornly. Yes. That was him. Love-stricken Hillary even tells me that that is his home phone number, and exactly how you can get his mother to hand the phone to him. Oh, well. This is useful information.

I press the talk button, and put the phone to my ear. My roommates are looking at me like deer in headlights. "Are... are you actually calling him?"

"Yes. I have to scold him." I don't quite remember what Ben and I talked about for twenty minutes except that the gist of it was me threatening to send flaming squirrel assassins after him if he didn't get his butt down here to visit Rachel and Hillary soon.

Well, after all this, I figured I wasn't really a complete stranger and decided... okay! I'll go to Bountiful and go to Ben's farewell! This was completely on a whim. I bring books so that I can study. I don't. Mostly I eat and sleep and go to farewells. And listen to Christmas music and send Rachel crazy messages. At one point Rachel's dad came in with Nerf guns and attacked us. Then he let us keep the guns and ammunition as early Christmas presents. The two of us were thrilled, and immediately started plotting how we would torture dear Jackie when we got home. For dinner tonight, I had seven plate-sized blueberry pancakes. Why? Well, that was how many I was given. And... they were darn good. And... I wanted to see how many I could eat before I was too full to belch in approval.

We got back in time for ward prayer, but because Rachel's mother had sent home extremely-stuffed stockings full of goodies for all six of us roomies and six beautifully wrapped packages that contained amazing fluffy scarves, we broke tradition. That's right. We DIDN'T wear hats. We wore scarves. I show up a mere five minutes early (usually it's about ten) to be confronted by dear Robert, my home teacher. He was complaining about how I hadn't been home when he had spontaneously tried to come visit me. I am laughing at him, and I then notice Ryan moping around in the background pretending to be a ghost.

Ryan has this tendency to pretend he's not there and be a ghost until he finally decides it's worth gathering up the courage to come and talk to me. I am perfectly content to just let him do this. But Ryan has recently tried to convince me that he "is not a ghost," and since I had already broken the hat thing... I could break another unwritten tradition. "Hello, Ryan!" I was not expecting him to be so thrilled that I had noticed him and actually started talking to him first. He lit up instantly. I'm not sure I can even begin to describe how funny it was. So that's how I ended up breaking a third tradition... I was talking to Ryan and then ward prayer started... and... I was not sitting in my traditional spot on the staircase with my short roommates (who happen to be giggling and shaking their heads at me). Oh snap.

After ward prayer... my friend Sarah pokes me as I've resumed conversation with Ryan. I turn around to an offer I cannot refuse. Sarah... has... chocolate... cake... I hurriedly say goodbye to Ryan and I invade Sarah's apartment. "I'm really, really sorry, it's just that I made too much and I'm trying to get rid of..." I kind of just laugh at her. "No, no, any time!"

I come back to my apartment... and realize I have forgotten my keys. I pound on my door. This is a surefire way to get all your roommates out in the hall. So, when I open the door, I am pounced upon instantly. I went from a singular person carrying a chocolate cake to a large mass of six girls clumped together cradling a chocolate cake. "What... what... what... is it..." "Oooooh... oh oh oh...." "Can... can... can... I have some?" "Shaaaaarrreeee? Share share share?" Remember now that we are all stressing out majorly and that chocolate is a cure-all (ooh, FYI, I've been eating chocolate all semester and no migraines... joy!) for anything stress related. This is also a fresh, warm, and extremely aromatic chocolate cake. I put on the counter and let my roommates have at it. I go check my email, preferring to not be a part of this frenzy (I would have been participating if I wasn't stuffed full of pancakes). I come back seventy-five seconds later, only to find... GASP! The chocolate cake is GONE. Gone. Eaten already. The WHOLE thing. Not a single crumb left. Not only was the pan empty, all of the cake's former glory was in the bellies of my dear roommates. I wasn't too disappointed since I was so full, but I just shook my head at my ravenous roomies and made my way over back to Sarah's place to return the pan.

She opens the door and looks at me warily. "I'm here to return your pan!" I say brightly. "It's all gone! My roomies found it!"

"Well... did you get any?"

"No... I left for a few seconds, and I came back, and it was gone."

Maybe I should have lied, because Sarah was distraught. She attacked her apartment to find a Snickers bar to give me (she didn't like Snickers and had been given one). I just laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation.

Anyway, that is all for now! I will see you all next week!