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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ooh, sorry, got off track.

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

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

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

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

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

goodness. Then we went back home.

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

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. "Yep. Exactly."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Return to BYU Part I: Faceless Men and Darkness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then soon the streets started to look familiar.

And then...

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

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

Wait a minute.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SKKKKKRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, I am on a quest to find light.

Light, light.

Oh! Flashlight! I have one of those!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What to eat, what to eat?!

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

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

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

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

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

I blink. "A guy in our ward."

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

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

She scolded me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Finding A Voice.

The last few days of this week, I have been plagued by a chronic stomachache and a severe lack of motivation. I do believe I am starting to get sick with something, although I hope I don't actually get ill. Thursday was when it hit me really bad.

Dull headache, complaining stomach, and even a little back pain. And the idea of doing homework was just so... unappealing. And the idea of going to class (especially dance) was even less appealing. So I kind of just curled up in a blanket and sat around. Not good, I know.

And then I had the urge to make cookies. I did. Not good, I know.

I didn't actually bake the dough once it was made. I put it in the fridge and let it sit. And then I just randomly made them later when Jackie came home. And ate a lot of the dough. Gaah! Not good, I know.

So now I was feeling worse. And I felt gross. And I needed real food. So I improvised and made onion soup, but I put rice in it because it needed more sustenance. I ate that. And I felt good. Good, I know.

But then Jackie made brownies. Marshmallow brownies. Not good, I know.

The next day I had a little more motivation. I did my homework and went to class. And then came home and felt awful. There was supposed to be a barn dance tonight, I remembered. Ooooh, but dancing sounds very unappealing right now. Moving at all sounds unappealing. Soon people started showing up at my house. And our back door doesn't shut very well, and it often just stays wide open if no one goes over and closes it.

So somehow my place became the meeting place as more and more people starting coming in. Eventually Michael found his way in. I was just sitting on the couch, being anything but the center of attention. Kind of ignoring people. And Michael comes over, and sits on the arm of the couch I was on, and leans over my way. "You going to the dance?"

I sort of mumble, "No, I don't feel well. I don't want to dance."

Rachelle then pipes up from the stairs. "Michael! You coming dancing?"

He answered... in the negative. Dang. Dang. Dang.

But Rachelle somehow still has a voice where I do not. "Why not? Because Jenna's not going?"

In reply, he laughed quietly, but he never actually answered. I groaned. All right, so I feel sick, but not that bad. But Michael doesn't need to know that. I immediately took on my best I-feel-like-crap demeanor and pretty much ignored him until he and everybody else left. After that... I began to realize how bad I really was feeling. Ugh.

I was pretty much moping around for awhile, and then I called my mother. I hadn't really been on the phone very long when I heard a knock on the door. I opened it.

It was Michael. I wanted to scream, Did you not get the message? I don't feel well, and I don't want to do anything tonight. Go away!

Michael said, "We made soup for you since you aren't feeling well. Come eat it."

I blinked. Hm. Do I want to go over there? Hm. He made me soup. Soup does sound good. Hm. Maybe I'll eat it and then come home. Kind of confused, I went over there and was presented... with, well, it wasn't exactly soup. It was more like chicken and dumplings. Still good though. I ate that. And before long I had been dragged into the living room to play video games, and before long a movie was put in... Mr. Bean's Holiday. Michael's friend, Jason, had brought it over. And Jason and his fiancée, Karissa, wanted to watch it. And before I really had realized what was going on, I had been tricked into staying all night.

A note... Michael hates Mr. Bean. He cringed every time something Bean did something stupid... which was often. And, not even five minutes into the movie, Michael's cringes transformed from small cringes into more dramatic reactions... like burying his head in my side. At which point I would attempt to peel him off (I never succeeded).

So, the peel-off method wasn't working. I scootched over. And I was watching him warily through the corner of my eyes with my marching band peripheral vision skills. Okay, now we aren't touching. This is good.

I start paying attention to the movie. I imagine I might have really enjoyed it if it wasn't for -- gyyyaaaaah! In shock, I realize that some time in the last thirty seconds of not really paying attention, he had replaced himself right next to me and somehow he had gotten his hand on my shoulder and he was leaning slightly against me. Oh, no, you don't!

I squirm and scoot over more.

And it happens over and over again. Scootch. Scootch. And then he's really, really close. Scootch, rinse, and repeat. I even tried placing the couch pillows in between us, but I am still mystified at how they ended up in my lap and the Michael ended up where the pillows used to be. Gyaaah! So, that wasn't working. I even tried to physically push him away, but he was so... rock solid that my efforts to push him away were in vain and he didn't budge. He noticed, but instead of taking the hint, I do think he was horribly misinterpreting it as a flirt-back. Gyyaaaahhh... what do I have to do? Scootch, scootch, rinse, repeat. Over and over and over again. By the end of the movie, I was pressed up against the arm of the opposite side of the couch, willing my hips to be skinnier so that I could scoot over more... and yes, Michael was right up against my side.

At this point... Michael was not getting the message. I leapt up and announced, "I'm going home! I... I should rest!"

And I fled into my house and locked the doors, left the lights off, and just hugged myself for comfort in the dark on the couch. Within a few minutes Jackie and Rachelle came home from the dance. "Heeeey!" said Rachelle.

"Hey," I said. After an inquiry into what I had been doing all night, I explained what had happened. I ended by complaining, "And so now my right side is significantly warmer than my left side. He was waaaay close..."

Rachelle gawped at me. And then proceeded to feel the side of my left thigh, and then the side of my right thigh. "This side is warmer!" she laughed.

I nodded miserably. And went to bed feeling horrible.

I didn't see much of Michael at all on Saturday.

But Sunday? Well, I did have to go to church. But I've never been so tempted to just not go. So the whole thing became Operation Avoidance.

I surrounded myself by other girls in sacrament meeting. Phew. Don't have to sit by him at least.

As soon as the "Amen" was said for the closing prayer, I stood up and booked it out of there and hid in the girl's bathroom until it was definitely time for Sunday School. At which point I went to the Fish Class (what we call the Providential Living class), because I was sure he wouldn't go to that one.

Phew. So far so good. But can I make it to Relief Society unscathed? Unknown. Relief Society is in the room right next to Elder's Quorum. It would be tricky business. I carefully went up half of the stairs up to the second floor. Looked up at the top. And, I kid you not, my inside froze. Crap.

Michael is standing post right at the top.

How am I supposed to get past him? Hm. He is more on the right side of the stair... I shall dash up the left side, and... uh... I grab my sacrament meeting program from my scripture bag... and pretend to read it intently as I dash up the stairs, as far away from Michael as I could possibly manage. And there were two people between us. I walked as quickly as I could past him without breaking into a run, my eyes trained on the program in my hand, but my peripheral vision focused solely on my goal... the Relief Society room.

I pass him. He sees me. "Jenna!" he exclaims.

No, no, Michael. I am deaf today. I can't hear you. And somehow, I walk a little faster, still without running. Michael decides I didn't hear his exclamation, and comes after me. No, no, no, no! I am so close to the door! Just several more meters!

In my peripheral I see him dashing towards me. Crap. Oh, but some one stepped in front of him. That may be just enough to allow my escape. I am about to step through the door when --

Bam.

I blink. A fist between me and the door, and a forearm attached to the fist, and biceps attached to that, and shoulder attached to that, and neck... and then Michael's grinning face.

Michael. No. I duck and dash under his arm, into the Relief Society room. Success! I win, I win, I --

Crap. I didn't take into account that Michael, could, if he so wished, enter the Relief Society room. And he did, catching me around the waist. I yelp, and he pulls me close. Craaaaaaaaap. I squirm until I am free, turn around and start towards a seat, but --

"Stop!" I turn and blink at him. He starts singing... "Get your kicks at 366, etc." He had modified the classic song Route 66, and was singing about my apartment. I said nothing until he stopped singing, at which point he looked expectantly at me, and I said, "Uh... clever." And with that I turned around and found a seat at the opposite side of the room, and didn't look in his direction until he had left the room, when I breathed a sigh of relief.

Relief Society passed slowly. I prayed and prayed and prayed that we would get out a minute early so I could escape and run home and lock myself inside. Except it didn't work. Perhaps I wasn't faithful enough, because we were let out a minute late, and I was dashing for the door, when a girl ahead of me opened it and went out. And I saw, waiting by the doorway... Michael. So I steered in Rachelle's direction instead. And we initiated a few long conversations with people.

I kept glancing nervously at the door. He was still there. And then, when Rachelle and I were finished with our conversations, we dashed to the opposite side of the room. There had to be another exit. There just had to be. The unfortunate thing about having church in the testing center is... they kept an awful lot of doors locked. If we had tried to exit any other way, we would have set the alarms off.

Apparently, I am not getting out of this encounter. I turn around and see that Michael, alarmed by his sudden not-being-able-to-see-us-from

-the-doorway, had entered and was walked towards us. I stand behind Rachelle, and hope he'll talk to her instead of me.

And... he does. Yes! As he says something to Rachelle, I dash in front and walk as quickly as I can in the direction of home. Come on, Jenna, you can make it! You can make it! And then... as quickly as I am walking, Michael has caught up and is talking to me. I was unhappy, to say the least, I keep walking quickly. The quicker I walk, the faster I will be home, and the less time I have to spend with Michael.

Once home, I shudder in relief. And I don't have to deal with him again until late that night. Late late. Nearly midnight.

He starts to talk. "So, what are you doing?"

I reveal nothing about what I actually was doing, but I mentioned instead that Rachelle and I had gone to see a friend at the webcam since he lived in California.

Michael gawps, "You are so cool. What are you doing tomorrow?"

Crap! I shall say NO to anything he proposes! ANYTHING!

"Uh... school."

"Oh, me too! What school?"

"Um, linear algebra, chemistry, and Irish dance."

"Wow, you are so accomplished. I just have to write an economics paper and an ethics paper."

"Eew."

A small, very short period of silence. Then, "We should go on a walk tomorrow, Miss Jenna from 366. You know you want to."

...You think I want to? Actually, I don't... "No, not really." Phew. I said no. I said I didn't want to. I said no!

It was almost a victory. Except it didn't seem to occur to Michael that I had said no. "Oh, come on. It will be fun! You know you like walks with me!" he egged, grinning impishly.

I blinked and stared. Did I not just say no, and give my reason as I didn't want to? And what was that? How dare you try to tell me what I should like and what I should want! How dare you keep making decisions for me! How dare you undermine the things I say! How DARE you. In that split second I reflected on how utterly powerless I felt when I was with him, and I almost began to fume. Exactly how explicitly do I have to say no?

I said quietly and coldly, staring as icily as I knew how, "I don't particularly like the phrases, 'You know you want to' or 'You know you like...' That's not very nice. That's not very nice at all."

He laughed smallishly. "Heh. Okay. Bye."

And with that he was abruptly gone. I won that battle, but I'm still not sure if I've won the war or not. We shall see. We shall see.

Piggyback Serenades Among Other Birthday Surprises.

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

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

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

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

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

"Well, that's not very exciting."

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

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

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

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

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

"MAYBE!!!" he yelled playfully.

"Oh! What do you want?"

"I NEED YOU!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You still cleaning?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

"They're checking Michael's!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Two cakes?"

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

"Roadtrip! We're going to LA!"

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

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

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

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

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

He looked disappointed. "You did?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" I demanded.

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

"No. No, I'm not."

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

"I'm just not."

"Are you ticklish anywhere?"

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

Michael looked so disappointed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Michael was so close! I rammed him.

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

"Noooo!!!" yelled Michael.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean my thoughts?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

I laughed quietly. "You can have Michael!"

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

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

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

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

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

Extra Story Bits

Well, I just finished the school week. Yesssss. Three-day weekend. Thank goodness. I have one random story to tell about, which is totally disconnected to anything in any way. And it's not to be taken seriously in the least bit. Mostly it is for my own entertainment. Here it is...

I remember the good old days in Robison. I miss Rachel and Hillary, and our endless talk of perfect men named Tod (tall, dark, and ominous) who could hiccup ominously, or perhaps be invisible. And I especially remember when the snowstorms came. I hopped up on Ashley's bed to look out at 9th East as the cars whizzed by and the snow fell down happily. Rachel came to join me... and genius that she is, she noticed an obvious thing that probably isn't obvious to the normal population.

"Some guy needs to go out into the suicide lane, right next to that manhole. And serenade us. And if he could get a piano out there too, that would be even better." And of course, she was right. It was perfect. We were on the second story, so it was almost like a balcony (almost...) and there's nothing that says love like running into the suicide lane as traffic whizzes by just to sing to you.

So, every time there was a snow storm, Rachel and I would run to my bedroom window and look out the window expectantly. Except none of the guys we knew had this genius (yet quite possibly insane) idea to run out into the suicide lane and serenade the ladies of 126 during any of the many snowstorms we had. Lame. We determined that the probability of us being serenaded in any way was probably around 0.001%. Not very good odds. I mean, none of us had boyfriends. None of us wanted boyfriends. And there's this stupid thing about today's society. Nobody gets serenaded unless there's a little somethin' somethin' goin' on between serenader and serenadee, or said serenader wishes there were. And then there's the issue of said serenader's lacking self confidence in singing skill required for said serenading.

Which is not so cool, I think. You know those lists of things we all have of stuff we need to do before we die? Yes, I'm sure you all have one... Well, among other things like getting married, being the bestest mother and wife ever, going skydiving, conquering my fear of sliding down stair rails, and such -- right in the middle, is one little innocent item. Be serenaded. And I'm not the only one. 'Tis a fairly common thing, I think, even if it isn't consciously on a lot of girls' lists. Subconsciously -- I think it's there on the vast majority of all of them.

But it doesn't really matter, because no one serenades because they think they can't sing. That's true for a lot of people. But honestly, there are really only three situations.

One, you can sing like Michael Bublé. In that case, no worries. You have nothing to be embarrassed about, and your serenadee will love you forever and ever for it. No problems. Unfortunately, this situation applies to a very small population. Dang.

Two, you really can't sing very well at all, but in your egotistical mind you think you are dang talented. Um, hate to say it, but if this is case, don't do any serenading. You can kind of tell the difference between people who know they suck and people who don't. People who don't know are a lot harder to listen to... and people who do know they aren't very good can turn it into a very funny situation.

Which takes us to case three (and I believe this is the case for most of the people I know): you don't have any incredible singing talent, and you know it. Well, in that case, it's still safe to serenade. As long as your intended serenadee has a sense of humor. Then it would just be plain hilarious. And memorable. And then your serenadee can cross "Be serenaded" off that list of theirs and love you forever and ever for it. A warning though -- if your intended serenadee has no sense of humor you'll just embarrass yourself. :D

When we were looking for places to live, and we came to look at Monticello last semester, we immediately noticed the stairs inside the apartment. And, if you can't see the obvious, having your very own personal set of stairs doubles your chances of being serenaded. (True, that only means our chances are 0.002% now, but still... I think that is a significant improvement from 0.001%.)

'Twas a Tuesday night, and, as on all Tuesday nights, I was exhausted beyond all reason. I came home with sore legs and feet from dancing for a few straight hours. And none of had been serenaded even once the whole term. It was definitely time for something fun. And that something fun was the planned Relief Society social. Jackie, Ingrid, Rachelle and I set off to the Granary parking lot -- apparently we were going to watch a movie there. Except when we stepped outside and looked up at the sky...

Dark, dark clouds. Uber wind. And the bizarre thing was, it was fairly warm still. Oh well. Might as well as go to the beginning even if there is a storm coming... I mean, you can't just pass up an opportunity for free food like that. It's a Relief Society function in a single student ward. There should be goodies. Should be. Except when we showed up... we came to discover that it was canceled.

Needless to say, we were disappointed. Not that we really wanted to watch a movie or meet new people or anything, just that we had been stoked for food. The four of us dejectedly walked back to our apartment. And then Ingrid started it.

"I really want pizza."

The other three of us gasped/choked/smiled in agreement with a unanimous "Yesss!!!"

"Don't we have a Domino's flyer magnet somewhere with coupons?" Oh yes, we did. I had thoughtfully put the coupons on the fridge for easy access in case of future craving emergencies (A house full of girls = high high high likelihood for random cravings for random, yummy, really-not-so-good-for-you things...). I got it immediately, and looked at the coupons, but then I realized -- "GUYS! It's 2x Tuesday!" Two large pizzas. Four girls with cravings. Yessssss.

I looked back down at our flyer magnet thing. The coupons were worthless now... You couldn't take two deals at once. But then I saw... "Try ordering online!" written in big red letters. Hmmm... ordering pizza online? That's new...

But it was an adventure of sorts to be had. I brought my computer downstairs and went to dominos.com... and it was glorious. Within seconds the four of us were all ordering pizza. And it was like there were too many options. We chose what sort of crust, and then the size. The toppings form was easy and beautiful. We just clicked the toppings we wanted (whole pizza, only left side, or only right side) and then how much (light, normal, or heavy). And then we ordered. Then there was a little option I noticed...

"Any special instructions for the delivery expert?"

Well, no serious ones. But I just couldn't pass up the opportunity. We typed in, "Serenade will earn extra tip." And then the order was complete.

We were then taken to a page with a meter on it. And basically... we were informed immediately when each step of the pizza-making process what complete -- when the pizza had been made, when it had been put it the oven, when it had come out of the oven, when it was put in a box, and then when it was on its way to our house. It was divine. The four of us waited in eager anticipation. And most of the anticipation was for pizza... but then there was the thought that maybe the delivery man had enough guts to sing us something. Even Mary Had a Little Lamb would have sufficed.

Within twenty minutes of placing our order, our doorbell rang. We answered and stood there eagerly. Nathan, the pizza guy, shuffled his shoes nervously. "Am I sposed ta sing or sumthin?" Well, to the say the least, Nathan did not want to sing anything, claiming he didn't know any songs. We gave him a normal sized tip and he left. And the pizza was good. But it would have been better accompanied by a serenade.

Alas.

Whatever Happened to Lying Low?

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

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

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

"Heeey!" he said.

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

"Do you have any movies?"

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

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

"A while."

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

"A month a while."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait, with Dr. Cardon?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

James didn't know.

"Make banana bread," I said.

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

"Acidophilus. Good? Bad?"

James blinked.

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

James hadn't the slightest clue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh.. hi?" we said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Guuh.

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

I finally got it open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Send me love and birthday wishes!