No, sorry, no exciting news. Just a general update to the general populace, aight? I don't expect this'un to be long.
First -- academics. Not much to complain about. I'm waltzing pretty darned well, when I remember the routine. Neurobiology is by far easiest class, unless you count New Testament. Oh, and family history. But as far as religion classes go -- compared to the other classes I've been taking, they're a joke. Don't get me wrong; BYU religion classes are hard. It's just I kind of forget when I'm studying for them that it's a class. So they don't count. My hardest class is neuroanatomy. It also happens to be my favorite class.
Second -- social life. Y'all should be proud of me. I have recently discovered what the difference between me and the center of the party is: I expend energy in social situations, whereas your classic extrovert gains energy in them. I come home from socializing more exhausted than when I spend the same amount of time exercising. I don't think anything I do will change that.
Despite its exhausting nature, I have been quite good at socializing this semester. Reveling in my unemployment, I have endeavored to memorize everybody's name in the ward and be to carry on a decent conversation with all of them. I still have a loooooong way to go. I get all the many Matts mixed up.
Among my social accomplishments this semester:
-- About every other day I go to somebody else's house for dinner.
-- Every two weeks I cook for them instead.
-- I actually invite people over.
-- I actually go randomly visit people.
-- Most of the people in the ward know my name.
-- I actually try to go to party-esque things.
-- Although I study better alone, I attend more study groups.
Be proud!
I actually also had a date last week. No, none of the guys in my ward...
Meet my friend Carlos Alett Osorio Rueda, age 18, from Mexico. He comes over to our apartment on occasion -- and that's a bit of a hike from where he lives. He lives right across from the MTC (about a thirty minute walk from our house). He knows us because he knows Ron and Aubrey. He is just one of those people that when you see him, you just have to jump up with your arms in the air and yell, "Carlos!!!" And, whenever he visits, that's exactly what EVERYBODY does. He's an interesting chap. By my judgment, he is one of those extremely shy guys with an extroverted facade. He is fluent in five or six languages -- English, Spanish, Portuguese, French, Arabic, and Hindi. He uses big words a lot, and is a teensy bit narcissistic.
Thursday night I said goodnight to Shannon, who was studying on our bedroom floor, when there was a knock on our closed bedroom door. "Come in!"
Carlos pokes his head in timidly and explains that his roommate just last minute decided to do a double date tomorrow and that now he needs a date. Then he looks at Shannon and asks if either of us want to go.
Shannon declines and explains that she is busy. (She had a date scheduled for Friday evening, Saturday morning, Saturday lunch, and Saturday evening... all different guys... This is typical of Shannon's weekends.) Carlos looks over at me then, and well, I didn't have anything better to do, and this is my friend... so... "I can go," I said, looking tired and a little bit like a drowned cat lost in a quilt trying to stay awake. What can I say, it was 11:30pm. Groggily I wrote my phone number on a slip of paper for him, kicked him out, rolled over, and fell straight to sleep.
The following evening, Shannon and I got ready for our dates. I finished getting ready first, and then helped Shannon with her outfit. Her date told her to dress in the 20s style, so I lent her one of my hats and one of my little silk flowers. She looked pretty amazing. Feeling a little inferiorly dressed, I borrowed her French beret. There.
Shannon's date showed up first. I let him in, but Shannon wasn't quite ready yet. He was dressed all spiffy-like in 20s garb too and introduced himself as Jaren Meldrum. Once inside, he made a beeline for our bookshelf. Aside from our ginormous wall of missionary pictures, on the shelf closest to the ceiling I have a little magnetic picture board that Rachel's mom gave me for Christmas. I had printed a few duplicate pictures for it, but it was teeny and I can only see the very topmost picture if I try to put them all on. Tonight the top picture was of Elder Strong (that's Ryan) feeding some kangaroos peanuts.
He inquired as to who it was, and I told him. "I thought that was him. I picked him up from the airport. And that's at the Gorge. ... I was probably there when that picture was taken. I might've even taken that picture!" He then spied the wall full of pictures (you've have thought he would have seen that first...) and found all the pictures with Ryan in them. And then he told me exactly where each picture was taken.
Small world, eh? This sort of thing has actually happened a few times with some other missionaries on our expansive wall, including Dallin and Cliftonius. Only at BYU would something like this be commonplace. Soon, guys'll be looking at all the pictures on our wall and suddenly we will hear one exclaim, "Hey, that's me!" We've got a bajillion nameless companions up there...
Shannon and Jaren left for their date and I was left all by myself. And Carlos didn't show up until forty-five minutes after he had said he'd show up. But he did show up eventually, looking a little ruffled and distracted. We piled into the back seat his roommate's car. His roommate, Joseph, was driving, and in the passenger's seat was Joseph's date named Ericka. According to the guys, the plan was to make pie. To say the least, I was pretty excited.
But first -- to the Creamery! We needed lemon juice if we were going to make lemon meringue pie! Ericka was also starving and begged Carlos to buy her dinner. He consented and bought her an entire pizza. He offered to buy me food, but I told him I'd already eaten. Then he offered to buy me groceries, but I thought that was a tad ridiculous. At the checkout with lemon juice, a pie crust, and a pizza, I saw cashier Kerstin Wheatley! It was exciting.
We finally went back to Portuguese House where Carlos and Joseph live. I'd been there before because Carlos made us enchiladas. They were tasty, so I figured our cooking adventures would turn out all right. However, making the pie was a little rocky. Several things were not done as they should be, and when I'd comment, Carlos would just tell me to trust that it would turn out. Eventually we got the lemony goodness filling into the crust, and then into the fridge. We all decided not to top it with meringue because none of us really liked meringue anyway.
While the pie was in the fridge, supposedly firming up, Ericka pulled out coloring books and watercolor paints. I grabbed the Care Bears coloring book, and ripped out a page that said, "I love you!" with a Care Bear holding a ginormous heart. I painted it. With skill, much to the amazement of everyone else.
"What are you going to do with that when you're done?" inquired Carlos.
I thought, and answered, "I shall send it to my brother. He's in Mexico."
After the Care Bear, I ripped a bird picture out of a different coloring book. I painted those for Carlos. Then I abandoned the coloring books, and just started painting on blank paper. I started with a classic triangle-shaped Jenna. Then I decided to attempt a guy. I suceeded painting one in a Sunday clothes. I decided that would be Alex since he didn't have a name badge. (Alex isn't allowed to wear his missionary name tag all the time. Sad day.)
I also painted a French moustache and soul patch on Carlos. Ericka and I both loved it, but Carlos kept fidgeting and complaining about it. Then Ericka and I painted moustaches on ourselves. Then he pinned down Joseph and gave him a Hitler-stache.
We broke out the pie -- but it was an epic failure indeed. Carlos was devastated, and felt obligated to buy us all ice cream. We went back to the Creamery. Carlos looked humiliated because of his painted 'stache, but the rest of us flaunted ours, taking a gajillion pictures as we went. We went back to his place with ice cream and watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail -- until Carlos fell asleep. We left Carlos on the couch and Joseph took Ericka and I home.
So that is all for my social life. Sorry I don't have any other exciting stories to tell you about. No, I don't have a Valentine, nor anyone in particular that I wish was my Valentine. This will be my twentieth Valentine's Day, and still alone! Sad day. I think I'll spend Valentine's Day... erm... sleeping. And doing homework. And maybe I'll invite people over for dinner or something. Ooh, I know, we should have a breakfast cereal party! ... It will be amazing.
Ooh, I'll invite my former FHE brothers! Oh, sad story. Dan and Alex Seegmiller, whose guts I love, have been chased out of their apartment by bedbugs. They are no longer in our ward. Rachel and I are trying to convince them to pitch a tent on our lawn and live there (we promised we'd feed them...) but they have yet to accept our offer. (Is that against the Honor Code?)
And they left just when we were starting to make progress with Alex's hugphobia. I mean, really. I very deliberately stood three feet away from him and exclaimed "ALEEEXXXX!!!" like I always do when I hug him. And he came forward and gave me a hug, immediately afterwhich he crossed the room and gave Shannon a hug too. Yesssss! Still though, if you hold on too long, he reverts back to being as stiff as a board. Sigh.
Even worse than my favorite 26th ward brothers leaving -- I got a new one that creeps me out of my mind. No hugs for him. His name is Ben. He pokes me in the side a lot, complains loudly when I don't hold eye contact long enough, steals my computer to pull-up weird YouTube videos, and randomly stops by with no-bake cookies. I sometimes get the feeling he is evaluating me as a test subject for some strange experiment. When he comes over, I make a point to hide upstairs in my room.
As far as I am concerned, he is a disgrace to the name Ben. I always wanted to name my oldest son Benjamin and call him Ben, and if creepy brother Ben sullies that name I shall be quite upset with him. Quite.
Speaking of Benjamins -- this is for Elder Ben Poulsen!
Clifton could very possibly be dead (!!!!), Ryan lives, Alex lives, Zach lives, Dallin lives, Will lives, and, yes, Ben lives. I've heard from all of them in the past week via letters/ emails/ blog posts (viva la Internet), except for Clifton, who I haven't heard from since December. He's dead! *panic!!!* Anyway, I neglected to inform everybody last time that Ben, too, lives. I'm sorry, Ben. It won't happen again.
The end. Send me word of the goingson in you people's lives. It makes me feel loved to see stuff pop up in my inbox.
Showing posts with label Ryan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ryan. Show all posts
Friday, February 6, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Happy 2009 to All.
I realize that I haven't written in an awfully long time. Apologies to everyone, or at least to the ones who enjoy these things. I suppose then that this will just be an general update dotted with stories... I'm afraid that not much of importance has happened.
So -- I guess I shall answer common questions from everyone. Dates, grades from last semester, job, new classes, and any other adventures. Okee. :D
For the question on my parents' minds, and probably the minds of most of my many adopted parents in Chandler -- no, no dates. I did get asked on two though, both of which I declined. Hm. Perhaps if I told you about these, then you might understand.
First, let me introduce you to Jacob Stark -- extremely intelligent, inquisitive, and armed with a whole quiver of skills. He is one of Shannon's good friends, so he visits sometimes. He is probably one of those people who I will never understand, and he freaks me out. I honestly can't describe him to you. Honestly. The best I can do is tell you is that his behavior is always in what we have dubbed the Stark Spectrum -- one end being ridiculously happy, cheery, extroverted, hyper, and friendly; the other end being creepy, morbid, dark, and just plain disturbing. I'm warning you now -- I'm only describing the creepy end of the spectrum. So, if at the end of this little storylet you think Jacob is a creep -- it's because he is sometimes, and that's all I've told you about.
Sometimes he gets this cannibalistic gleam in his eye, and sometimes when he has this look -- he'll bite me on the arm or shoulder. Heeeh... He's done it two or three times.
His conversation skills could use some work, I think. Once he walked up to me in church and said, "You know, when I see you, I think of drowning kittens." Then he proceeded to explain to me in morbid detail exactly how he would drown the kittens. I obviously couldn't see my own face at this point, but I do remember my eyebrows knitting together, my jaw dropping, and just giving him a general look of horror. My personal theory is that he just takes insane joy from seeing me horrified, because he doesn't say things like that to anyone else. But I'll never know. While I was still standing there with a stunned look on my face, Hillary exclaimed, "Jacob! That's HORRIBLE!"
He stopped for a moment -- then said. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I felt like I should to say something to you, Jenna, so I did."
"Drowning kittens? I remind you of drowning kittens?" I demanded.
"Well, no..."
Hillary then demanded that he pay me a compliment immediately. He told me I was beautiful today and left.
A few weeks later at church again, he walked up to me after sacrament meeting and abruptly asked, "If all your roommates were drowning, and you had to choose, would you go to dinner and a movie with me?"
I remember sitting in my seat with a stunned look on my face, and it took me a few seconds to process what he had just asked. "Is that an either/or question?" I asked disapprovingly, ignoring the little excited voice in my head that said, Ooh, free food! I love food!
He opened his mouth, closed it again, walked away, and, well... hasn't talked to me since.
I think I don't have to expand on why I didn't want to go on that date.
The other one... well, I'm bringing in an old character for this one. Remember Michael Smith? He's baaa-aaackk...
If you don't, let me refresh your memory. Rewind to spring term of last year. That guy that kept "asking" me on dates, or rather, planning dates with me and then telling me about them as if it was obvious I'd say yes. That guy who made soup and dumplings to lure me to his place when he found out I was sick -- and then once I was there, popped in a movie and then proceeded to squeeze himself closer and closer to me. I kept scooting away, and eventually had to jump up, declare intense feelings of illness, and leave. He did a lot of nice things for me too, but again, I'm only telling you about the parts I didn't like. He's not that bad, I promise.
I ran into him last Sunday. I walked out of the testing center, where we have church, saw two people about twenty meters away -- and then looked at them again because I thought I recognized one as Michael Smith. It was him. I have gotten in the habit of avoiding this man like the plague, but in this case it was too late to avoid him, because we made eye contact, and he exclaimed, "JENNA!"
"MICHAEL!" I yelled back. Well, I was on a spiritual high and felt on top of the world. Nothing could bother me right now. Not even scary guys I am normally terrified of. He had a girl with him, who he introduced to Hillary and I. A little hopeful voice inside of me said, Ooh! Maybe they're on a date! Maybe she's his girlfriend! He told me that he wanted to visit with some of his old friends in Monticello and that he might drop by later.
I mentioned that we were having a Break the Fast at White House North, and that much of the ward would be there. I mean, now that I look back at it, I suppose he might have interpreted it as, Ooh! She invited me to a party! Maybe she likes me!
Whoops...
So, the next day just before midnight, I check my phone to see that I had missed a call from Michael while I had been at FHE. Oh the terror that washed over me. In spite of it, I decided that I should at least pay him the respects of calling him back to see what it was he wanted. I resolved to call him in the morning.
He beat me to it -- wet, dripping, and fresh from a shower the next morning, I shut myself in my room only to find my phone blinking that little red light that means I've missed a call. How odd. No one ever calls me, let alone early in the morning. It was again from Michael, and he'd left a voicemail. In the message, he apologized for not coming to the Break the Fast, and that something had come up with one of his mission buddies. He said he wanted to catch up and left his number. Meh. I HATE calling people.
But... twice. He called me twice. I got ready for class, and then on the way up the hill, I called. I'm terrified of making phone calls, but somehow I succeeded in gathering up the courage to call somebody who scares me to death (be proud of me!). A huge wave of relief washed over me when I reached his voicemail. This means I can get out of having to call again.
Beep!
"Phone tag! You're it!" And with that I hung up. I hate making phone calls. However, I seem to have no problem whatsoever answering them.
Michael called back later that night and proceeded to "ask" if I wanted to go play racquetball.
"Michael," I said truthfully. "I can't do anything tonight. I'm doing homework!" I was also waiting for my home teachers to show up to give me blessing too, but I neglected to mention that, deeming it unnecessary information.
"Homework? Psh. You're still doing homework?" He tried to tell me that it was more important to go play with him than it was to finish my homework or to get enough sleep...
"No, Michael, I can't go tonight."
"Oh come on, you know you want to." And we were back to that game, just like last spring. Oh, if you were here, Michael, I would be this close to slapping your face.
"Michael, I'm doing homework. I'm extremely tired. And I'm expecting my home teachers to be here soon for a blessing. I can't go!"
And he finally let me go. Finally. I have a suspicion it was only because I mentioned that I was waiting for a blessing. I wish I hadn't mentioned that and had instead figured out some simpler way to forcefeed a "no" down his throat. You'd think it'd be enough to say, "I'm busy tonight," or "No." I really can't think of any more obvious way to say no than... well, "no." What more am I supposed to do?
Hm. That was a whole lot of story for a whole lot of no dates. Mleh! That's all right, I suppose. There's always this year!
And now we turn from my social life to my academic life. Which you may or may not care about.
Last semester's grades turned out pretty well. An A- average, ladies and gentlemen! I am so proud of these grades! You should be proud of them too.
A -- psychology, family history
A- -- New Testament, social dance, chemistry
B+ -- tap dance, physics, chemistry lab
This semester? I am SO excited. So. Excited. To qualify as a full time student here, you have to have at least 12 credits, and the most you are allowed to take is 18 credits. Most semesters I'm quite close to the 18 mark. Not the case for this semester! I am taking a mere 12.5 credits this time around. Be proud of me, all!
Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that I don't think this semester will be any less difficult than before. Why you ask? Well... you see... here are my classes!
Neuro 205 (Neurobiology): 3 credits
Neuro 360 (Neuroanatomy): 2 credits
MMBio 240 (Molecular and Microbiology): 3 credits
MMBio 241 (Molecular and Microbiology Lab): 1 credit
Rel A 212 (The second half of the New Testament): 2 credits
Rel C 293 (US & Canada Family History): 1 credit
Dance 184 (Beginning International Standard Ballroom Dance): 0.5 credits
May I now express to you my very excitement? If you could see me, I'd be glowing! Radiating! Despite the early hour of my neuroscience classes, I find my insides dancing with joy when I go to them. They're going to be soooo hard. And soooo fun. Watch out world, here I come.
I know at least 80% have forgotten what I'm studying in the first place, so here's a refresher. I am a neuroscience major. And, as of tomorrow, I have three minors. Psychology, mathematics, and chemistry. I'm also planning on finishing all the pre-med requirements. It sounds like a lot, and I suppose it is, but the thing is, a lot of these requirements overlap each other.
With the neuroscience major requirements, I already have to take all the chemistry minor requirements except for one more... and well, since when did I not jump at the opportunity to take one more chemistry class? Excited? Yes. I am.
Psychology slid nicely into place too. One class also fulfilled a GE requirement, and I have to take four 500-level psychology classes for the neuroscience major anyway (Eeeeeee!!!)... add one more psychological statistics class (ooh, sounds fun) and voila! Jenna has a psych minor.
And the math minor... well... remember that I used to think I was going to major in math? I decided against that. I am two classes away from a math minor. Two! I might as well make all my joyous sufferings in math classes count for something. I love math... but I don't particularly enjoy math classes. So, if I ever decide to drop a minor, this'll be it. But I won't, because we all know that I'm as stubborn as a rampaging baseball bat.
And the pre-med... That's just in case I end up going to medical school, obviously. If I do that, I'm thinking I'll go into psychiatry. Where I'll go to med school - No. Idea. Haven't gotten that far yet.
What else do you people want to know?
Oh. I quit that blasted library job in which I worked till midnight. And... I am still on the job hunt. I wanted to work in the Central Chemistry Stockroom, but that fell through. My next and brightest idea is the Brick Oven Pizza that is practically across the street. And if that doesn't work out... I could do catering for BYU! 'Twould be grand adventures indeed.
Oh! And!
I discovered my nemesis.
His name is Alex Seegmiller. And he doesn't -- like -- hugs. Egad! Oh, how can this be? My personal theory is that he is the victim of a horrid shyness (I have heard him speak a grand total of thirty seven words in the entire semester I think) and hasn't been off his mission quite long enough... oh dear, that's a recipe for disaster. He hasn't quite gotten used to the idea that he can hug girls. Poor guy.
This is made so very much worse with the cruel irony that he is my FHE brother -- which means his phobia of hugs interferes with my absolute need to excitedly yell "BROTHER!!!!" upon sight and attack him with a massive hug every time I see him. He usually responds to this hug with massive surprise (I mean, come on, he hasn't come to expect it yet?) and instantly growing as stiff as a board. Sometimes he falls over. Now that is just bad hug etiquette. It is my personal goal to desensitize this poor chap. Heaven knows toleration of hugs will do him good in his future life. I mean, one day he'll be married! I could save his future marriage! :D
Okay, so I know it is quite unlikely that constantly assaulting him with hugs is going to solve anything. But you've got to admit, seeing that look of pure terror just before attacking him with a hug is great fun. I mean, he'll learn to enjoy it (we all hope for his sake anyway) because if I hold on long enough, his brain'll release endorphins and endorphins'll make him happy.
And I think I'm making progress! He chuckles nervously now instead of hyperventilating in the event of being hugged... and I could swear he doesn't stiffen up quite as much as he used to. And every once in a while, he hugs me back a little! Yes!
My other FHE brother (who is Alex's for-real brother and pretty good-looking, incidentally) is Dan. To think that he is related to Alex is unthinkable. I have the opposite problem with Dan -- during a hug, if you hang on too long, he starts stroking your head. Beware...!
We have some other FHE brothers, but I don't know them very well yet... One is Peter and one is Ivan. Peter is one of those guys that could easily blend into crowds and I can't ever find him to attack him. Plus he's new, so we thought we'd take mercy on him and refrain from attacking him for these first couple weeks. And Ivan... always missing.
We also have an entire apartment full of FHE sisters, which are in the ward directory, but we swear we've never seen them, except for Jenny, who is easy to find, because she's the only one in a wheelchair in the entire ward. And apparently there is another Jenna too. (Oh man. This is just asking for confusion.)
My calling for this semester in church is as a member of the Literacy Committee in the Relief Society. Oh heck yes... basically we get to teach a lesson every once in a while on pretty much anything. Possible topics: how to study the scriptures, study habits in school, family history skills, writing skills, how to write your personal history, computer skills, etc.
Speaking of writing, I send off lots of missionary letters. It is probably one of my most favorite things to do ever. I don't get too many back though. In fact, I fear little brother Clifton is dead. The only problem with that theory is that if he really were dead, his parents might have thought to post news of it on his little mission blog. Ryan isn't dead (but it is very hot in Australia). Alex isn't dead (but we weren't allowed to send him a Christmas package to Malaysia which we didn't think was fair). And, well, I don't think anyone is dead. I think everyone is alive and well...
So, I guess the whole point of this was to explain that I am alive and well. Which I am!
Love,
Jenna
So -- I guess I shall answer common questions from everyone. Dates, grades from last semester, job, new classes, and any other adventures. Okee. :D
For the question on my parents' minds, and probably the minds of most of my many adopted parents in Chandler -- no, no dates. I did get asked on two though, both of which I declined. Hm. Perhaps if I told you about these, then you might understand.
First, let me introduce you to Jacob Stark -- extremely intelligent, inquisitive, and armed with a whole quiver of skills. He is one of Shannon's good friends, so he visits sometimes. He is probably one of those people who I will never understand, and he freaks me out. I honestly can't describe him to you. Honestly. The best I can do is tell you is that his behavior is always in what we have dubbed the Stark Spectrum -- one end being ridiculously happy, cheery, extroverted, hyper, and friendly; the other end being creepy, morbid, dark, and just plain disturbing. I'm warning you now -- I'm only describing the creepy end of the spectrum. So, if at the end of this little storylet you think Jacob is a creep -- it's because he is sometimes, and that's all I've told you about.
Sometimes he gets this cannibalistic gleam in his eye, and sometimes when he has this look -- he'll bite me on the arm or shoulder. Heeeh... He's done it two or three times.
His conversation skills could use some work, I think. Once he walked up to me in church and said, "You know, when I see you, I think of drowning kittens." Then he proceeded to explain to me in morbid detail exactly how he would drown the kittens. I obviously couldn't see my own face at this point, but I do remember my eyebrows knitting together, my jaw dropping, and just giving him a general look of horror. My personal theory is that he just takes insane joy from seeing me horrified, because he doesn't say things like that to anyone else. But I'll never know. While I was still standing there with a stunned look on my face, Hillary exclaimed, "Jacob! That's HORRIBLE!"
He stopped for a moment -- then said. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I felt like I should to say something to you, Jenna, so I did."
"Drowning kittens? I remind you of drowning kittens?" I demanded.
"Well, no..."
Hillary then demanded that he pay me a compliment immediately. He told me I was beautiful today and left.
A few weeks later at church again, he walked up to me after sacrament meeting and abruptly asked, "If all your roommates were drowning, and you had to choose, would you go to dinner and a movie with me?"
I remember sitting in my seat with a stunned look on my face, and it took me a few seconds to process what he had just asked. "Is that an either/or question?" I asked disapprovingly, ignoring the little excited voice in my head that said, Ooh, free food! I love food!
He opened his mouth, closed it again, walked away, and, well... hasn't talked to me since.
I think I don't have to expand on why I didn't want to go on that date.
The other one... well, I'm bringing in an old character for this one. Remember Michael Smith? He's baaa-aaackk...
If you don't, let me refresh your memory. Rewind to spring term of last year. That guy that kept "asking" me on dates, or rather, planning dates with me and then telling me about them as if it was obvious I'd say yes. That guy who made soup and dumplings to lure me to his place when he found out I was sick -- and then once I was there, popped in a movie and then proceeded to squeeze himself closer and closer to me. I kept scooting away, and eventually had to jump up, declare intense feelings of illness, and leave. He did a lot of nice things for me too, but again, I'm only telling you about the parts I didn't like. He's not that bad, I promise.
I ran into him last Sunday. I walked out of the testing center, where we have church, saw two people about twenty meters away -- and then looked at them again because I thought I recognized one as Michael Smith. It was him. I have gotten in the habit of avoiding this man like the plague, but in this case it was too late to avoid him, because we made eye contact, and he exclaimed, "JENNA!"
"MICHAEL!" I yelled back. Well, I was on a spiritual high and felt on top of the world. Nothing could bother me right now. Not even scary guys I am normally terrified of. He had a girl with him, who he introduced to Hillary and I. A little hopeful voice inside of me said, Ooh! Maybe they're on a date! Maybe she's his girlfriend! He told me that he wanted to visit with some of his old friends in Monticello and that he might drop by later.
I mentioned that we were having a Break the Fast at White House North, and that much of the ward would be there. I mean, now that I look back at it, I suppose he might have interpreted it as, Ooh! She invited me to a party! Maybe she likes me!
Whoops...
So, the next day just before midnight, I check my phone to see that I had missed a call from Michael while I had been at FHE. Oh the terror that washed over me. In spite of it, I decided that I should at least pay him the respects of calling him back to see what it was he wanted. I resolved to call him in the morning.
He beat me to it -- wet, dripping, and fresh from a shower the next morning, I shut myself in my room only to find my phone blinking that little red light that means I've missed a call. How odd. No one ever calls me, let alone early in the morning. It was again from Michael, and he'd left a voicemail. In the message, he apologized for not coming to the Break the Fast, and that something had come up with one of his mission buddies. He said he wanted to catch up and left his number. Meh. I HATE calling people.
But... twice. He called me twice. I got ready for class, and then on the way up the hill, I called. I'm terrified of making phone calls, but somehow I succeeded in gathering up the courage to call somebody who scares me to death (be proud of me!). A huge wave of relief washed over me when I reached his voicemail. This means I can get out of having to call again.
Beep!
"Phone tag! You're it!" And with that I hung up. I hate making phone calls. However, I seem to have no problem whatsoever answering them.
Michael called back later that night and proceeded to "ask" if I wanted to go play racquetball.
"Michael," I said truthfully. "I can't do anything tonight. I'm doing homework!" I was also waiting for my home teachers to show up to give me blessing too, but I neglected to mention that, deeming it unnecessary information.
"Homework? Psh. You're still doing homework?" He tried to tell me that it was more important to go play with him than it was to finish my homework or to get enough sleep...
"No, Michael, I can't go tonight."
"Oh come on, you know you want to." And we were back to that game, just like last spring. Oh, if you were here, Michael, I would be this close to slapping your face.
"Michael, I'm doing homework. I'm extremely tired. And I'm expecting my home teachers to be here soon for a blessing. I can't go!"
And he finally let me go. Finally. I have a suspicion it was only because I mentioned that I was waiting for a blessing. I wish I hadn't mentioned that and had instead figured out some simpler way to forcefeed a "no" down his throat. You'd think it'd be enough to say, "I'm busy tonight," or "No." I really can't think of any more obvious way to say no than... well, "no." What more am I supposed to do?
Hm. That was a whole lot of story for a whole lot of no dates. Mleh! That's all right, I suppose. There's always this year!
And now we turn from my social life to my academic life. Which you may or may not care about.
Last semester's grades turned out pretty well. An A- average, ladies and gentlemen! I am so proud of these grades! You should be proud of them too.
A -- psychology, family history
A- -- New Testament, social dance, chemistry
B+ -- tap dance, physics, chemistry lab
This semester? I am SO excited. So. Excited. To qualify as a full time student here, you have to have at least 12 credits, and the most you are allowed to take is 18 credits. Most semesters I'm quite close to the 18 mark. Not the case for this semester! I am taking a mere 12.5 credits this time around. Be proud of me, all!
Unfortunately, I regret to inform you that I don't think this semester will be any less difficult than before. Why you ask? Well... you see... here are my classes!
Neuro 205 (Neurobiology): 3 credits
Neuro 360 (Neuroanatomy): 2 credits
MMBio 240 (Molecular and Microbiology): 3 credits
MMBio 241 (Molecular and Microbiology Lab): 1 credit
Rel A 212 (The second half of the New Testament): 2 credits
Rel C 293 (US & Canada Family History): 1 credit
Dance 184 (Beginning International Standard Ballroom Dance): 0.5 credits
May I now express to you my very excitement? If you could see me, I'd be glowing! Radiating! Despite the early hour of my neuroscience classes, I find my insides dancing with joy when I go to them. They're going to be soooo hard. And soooo fun. Watch out world, here I come.
I know at least 80% have forgotten what I'm studying in the first place, so here's a refresher. I am a neuroscience major. And, as of tomorrow, I have three minors. Psychology, mathematics, and chemistry. I'm also planning on finishing all the pre-med requirements. It sounds like a lot, and I suppose it is, but the thing is, a lot of these requirements overlap each other.
With the neuroscience major requirements, I already have to take all the chemistry minor requirements except for one more... and well, since when did I not jump at the opportunity to take one more chemistry class? Excited? Yes. I am.
Psychology slid nicely into place too. One class also fulfilled a GE requirement, and I have to take four 500-level psychology classes for the neuroscience major anyway (Eeeeeee!!!)... add one more psychological statistics class (ooh, sounds fun) and voila! Jenna has a psych minor.
And the math minor... well... remember that I used to think I was going to major in math? I decided against that. I am two classes away from a math minor. Two! I might as well make all my joyous sufferings in math classes count for something. I love math... but I don't particularly enjoy math classes. So, if I ever decide to drop a minor, this'll be it. But I won't, because we all know that I'm as stubborn as a rampaging baseball bat.
And the pre-med... That's just in case I end up going to medical school, obviously. If I do that, I'm thinking I'll go into psychiatry. Where I'll go to med school - No. Idea. Haven't gotten that far yet.
What else do you people want to know?
Oh. I quit that blasted library job in which I worked till midnight. And... I am still on the job hunt. I wanted to work in the Central Chemistry Stockroom, but that fell through. My next and brightest idea is the Brick Oven Pizza that is practically across the street. And if that doesn't work out... I could do catering for BYU! 'Twould be grand adventures indeed.
Oh! And!
I discovered my nemesis.
His name is Alex Seegmiller. And he doesn't -- like -- hugs. Egad! Oh, how can this be? My personal theory is that he is the victim of a horrid shyness (I have heard him speak a grand total of thirty seven words in the entire semester I think) and hasn't been off his mission quite long enough... oh dear, that's a recipe for disaster. He hasn't quite gotten used to the idea that he can hug girls. Poor guy.
This is made so very much worse with the cruel irony that he is my FHE brother -- which means his phobia of hugs interferes with my absolute need to excitedly yell "BROTHER!!!!" upon sight and attack him with a massive hug every time I see him. He usually responds to this hug with massive surprise (I mean, come on, he hasn't come to expect it yet?) and instantly growing as stiff as a board. Sometimes he falls over. Now that is just bad hug etiquette. It is my personal goal to desensitize this poor chap. Heaven knows toleration of hugs will do him good in his future life. I mean, one day he'll be married! I could save his future marriage! :D
Okay, so I know it is quite unlikely that constantly assaulting him with hugs is going to solve anything. But you've got to admit, seeing that look of pure terror just before attacking him with a hug is great fun. I mean, he'll learn to enjoy it (we all hope for his sake anyway) because if I hold on long enough, his brain'll release endorphins and endorphins'll make him happy.
And I think I'm making progress! He chuckles nervously now instead of hyperventilating in the event of being hugged... and I could swear he doesn't stiffen up quite as much as he used to. And every once in a while, he hugs me back a little! Yes!
My other FHE brother (who is Alex's for-real brother and pretty good-looking, incidentally) is Dan. To think that he is related to Alex is unthinkable. I have the opposite problem with Dan -- during a hug, if you hang on too long, he starts stroking your head. Beware...!
We have some other FHE brothers, but I don't know them very well yet... One is Peter and one is Ivan. Peter is one of those guys that could easily blend into crowds and I can't ever find him to attack him. Plus he's new, so we thought we'd take mercy on him and refrain from attacking him for these first couple weeks. And Ivan... always missing.
We also have an entire apartment full of FHE sisters, which are in the ward directory, but we swear we've never seen them, except for Jenny, who is easy to find, because she's the only one in a wheelchair in the entire ward. And apparently there is another Jenna too. (Oh man. This is just asking for confusion.)
My calling for this semester in church is as a member of the Literacy Committee in the Relief Society. Oh heck yes... basically we get to teach a lesson every once in a while on pretty much anything. Possible topics: how to study the scriptures, study habits in school, family history skills, writing skills, how to write your personal history, computer skills, etc.
Speaking of writing, I send off lots of missionary letters. It is probably one of my most favorite things to do ever. I don't get too many back though. In fact, I fear little brother Clifton is dead. The only problem with that theory is that if he really were dead, his parents might have thought to post news of it on his little mission blog. Ryan isn't dead (but it is very hot in Australia). Alex isn't dead (but we weren't allowed to send him a Christmas package to Malaysia which we didn't think was fair). And, well, I don't think anyone is dead. I think everyone is alive and well...
So, I guess the whole point of this was to explain that I am alive and well. Which I am!
Love,
Jenna
Friday, August 22, 2008
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.
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-
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.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Seizures and Love Letters
Guess what, everyone! I leave on Saturday morning, and I am sooo excited. You all really have no idea. (Perhaps you do, but I will always insist that you don't.) My flight to Salt Lake leaves at 9:40am, so if any of you want to see me, you'll probably have to do it by Friday night, because after that, I'm outta here!
So, as always, you can contact me via email (jennamarie.griffin@gmail.com) or Facebook... or, if you love me extra special, you can call me up (602)577-2899 or perhaps send me snail mail: 366 E. 800 N., Provo, UT 84606. I'll be back for a little longer than a week and a half for Christmas break... not too long though. I'm flying in the evening of December 23rd, and then flying back the morning of January 3rd. And after that? I won't be back until the following Christmas. I don't that'll be too much of a problem, since I think I'm pretty good at keeping in touch. :)
Well, still no good stories. But hey, I can tell you a secret. Or, perhaps it isn't really a secret.
I have an involuntary shivering problem.
I'll be minding my own business, and then, like a Frisbee from the middle of nowhere -- it hits me. I shudder, sometimes violently.
Okay, okay, you say. That happens to everybody. But I say, no! It doesn't! Truthfully, most people shiver only when they have a good reason to... like say, it's freezing. Or maybe something creepy just happened. Or maybe someone sneaked up behind you and blew cold breath on your neck. (Oh, if you don't shudder at the thought, something is sooo wrong with you.)
But I shiver often enough and obviously enough to warrant concern.
I'll be sitting on the couch happily, thinking happy thoughts, being perfectly warm, and then -- graaghglghlgghaa! A series of nerves fire and it's a seizuresque shiver.
You know, it doesn't bother me, most of the time. Except --
Sometimes I shiver over and over and over again in a short period of time. When this happens, the muscles around my spine start to ache and I get a little shaky. But that's okay, it doesn't bother me that bad. Although when it happens on dates, he'll look over at me and nervously ask if I'm okay. It usually scares the living daylights out of whoever he is, even if I assure him this is perfectly normal.
Sometimes this happens: I'll have both my hands in front of me, and suddenly those nerves will fire -- and my arms will tense up -- and more nerves will fire -- and -- SMACK! I've clapped quite loudly, and my hands are stinging. And all this, involuntarily. I can only pray this never happens during a funeral. Or when I'm in the same room as a clap-activated bomb. Or when I'm trying to hide from a killer in a dark room with clapper lights. This could be potentially disastrous, no?
My dad is also quite concerned about this shivering phenomenon. He tells me I should see a doctor or something.
I say, Whhhyyy?! It's totally benign. The worst thing that ever become of it is... hm. Annoyance.
Well, he says, the doctor could give you some anti-seizure medication.
Yes, I say, but why would I want to be taking that for the rest of my life? I couldn't think of a good enough reason. Honestly... I can't stand the sight of blood, so we won't have to worry about me slicing a major artery during neurosurgery or anything.
About a month ago, my dad asked me -- Do you ever shiver like that when you're sleeping and wake up?
Naw, I say.
Never? Are you sure? He proceeds to interrogate me, and I answer truthfully. Soon, I realize... well, yes, I have.
See, sometimes, I wake up suddenly in the middle of night scared to death. I feel like either someone has grabbed me by the shoulders and given me a good, hard shake, or like I've fallen from a few feet in the air onto the bed. I used to attribute this to bad dreams which I didn't remember, but were intense enough to trigger a physical reaction... but... honestly, the shivering thing makes more sense.
Well, of course, my dad would be the first to wonder... What if you're cuddling with your husband and you both fall asleep and then you shiver and wake him up!?
Hm. I'd expect that wouldn't be enough to keep him awake for too long... I don't think that's a disaster. Honestly, if I were him I'd be more worried about wifey stealing all the covers. BAHAHA! And I think many normal couples suffer from the blanket-hog syndrome and the subsequent freezing awakeness of the thus coverless spouse, so I doubt a little shiver now and then would damage our relationship much.
So, all I can say about the shivers is... the condition is much too benign to worry about. Unless that clap thing happens in close proximity to my significant other's face... then I might slap him pretty hard without meaning to. That could damage our relationship much, ya?
Besides. It is obviously a neurological condition. And -- guess what. I happen to be studying neuroscience. What better field than that to have at your disposal if benign ever turns to malevolent. But for now, I feel no need to see a neurologist so I can get anti-seizure medication. All that would really do... is poison my liver. On the other hand... shivers aren't shortening my lifespan much, so I shan't worry about them.
Now for a secret missionary fan club update.
In other news... Clifton... er, Elder Dudley, has recently been stuck in the MTC due to Visa problems. He's supposed to go to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission. Well, he's not in the MTC anymore -- he's been temporarily assigned to labor in the Salt Lake City South Mission. Which I don't mind so much, because that means any letters he sends will still reach me relatively quickly, whereas if he were sending me something from Mexico, I'd probably have to wait for a long time. He sent me a picture of him and a few of his missionary buddies mimicking the Abbey Road cover in the MTC crosswalk. Genius. I shall have to frame it.
Will... er, Elder Budge, is still in the MTC, but he's leaving for Argentina on Monday. Excitement! In less exciting news, some of the other elders in his district... got scavies, and the hermanas in his district... have milk-chugging contests. Mostly he just wants out of the MTC.
And Ryan... er, Elder Strong... has been in Australia for a while. However, I finally got a letter from him. He wrote it almost a month ago, on that eternally long flight from San Francisco to Sydney. He read all ten letters within the first thirteen hours of that flight (in between Preach My Gospel and the Doctrine and Covenants, he assures me). Yikes... that must have been a rather boring flight. :D Thank goodness for email though. His mom forwards emails to me and his other BYU friends. I can tell you that he doesn't like Vegemite; he says it tastes like someone broke a bunch of pens and spread the inky stuff all over his toast. His companion kind of freaked him out at first because he says "I love you" to everyone and their dog, even when they get flicked off. And, most recently, he's pretty much waay excited about preaching the gospel. He loves it, and I'm pretty much jealous that I'm not serving a mission right now.
What else can I tell you?! Hm...
How about Elder Jolley? I can tell you about him. You don't know who he is. Neither do I really. I only recently found out that his first name was Joshua. Before that, for lack of a first name, I called him Oscar. Well, Elder Joshua Jolley is a good story.
I have mentioned my roommate, Rachel, but I don't remember how well I've described her to you. She is rather short. And squirrel-like, definitely, squirrel-like. She makes bizarre noises, and is usually laughing hilariously at something. She often fantasizes about the perfect man -- tall, dark, and ominous (T.O.D.) and preferably a bass or baritone who enjoys serenading. She has a goal to beat the height differential between her parents when she finds her one true love, and her ideal courtship probably involves numerous food fights and contests to see who can make me spray hot cocoa out my nose the farthest. If any of you are Facebook friends with me, look at my videos. There's one entitle, Territorial Dispute. This is Rachel and I fighting over a pillow. Vicious. Like spider monkeys, vicious.
Rachel has a high school friend named Elder Ben Poulsen, currently serving a mission in the Big Apple. Prior to his departure, I talked to him on the phone twice, and met him once (at his farewell). Rachel, Hillary, and I, the terrible trio, wrote him collective letters last semester... Actually, I remember one letter in particular where we all got lipsticks of different colors and kissed the envelope. And then mailed it away, hoping to freak out a few mailmen, Elder Poulsen, and his companion.
Well, at some point during the summer, Elder Poulsen got a companion named Elder Jolley. Rachel was still writing Elder Poulsen, of course. Letters which no doubt were full of random expressions like, "Look! Flaming phoenix squirrels!" "We'll blow up the ocean!" "Hillary and Jenna are Irishmen and I'm an Irishwoman!" "I got Jenna to spray hot cocoa out her nose, all over the kitchen!" "Wakakakakakaaa..."
So...
Rachel phones me and tells me a tale. She's been receiving love letters from Elder Jolley... and some of these letters referred to a future time when they'd be married.
I demand that she tell me everything she knows about him. Everything. Well, she doesn't know what his first name is. Or where he's from. Or anything. All she knows is what Elder Poulsen has told her. And all Elder Poulsen has told her is that the mysterious Elder Jolley takes his pants off at the dinner table. Awkward, yes, but upon reflection... if there exists a girl for a guy like this, it's a girl like Rachel. And at this point I understand why Elder Jolley is sending Rachel love letters.
Rachel was a little freaked out by her not-so-secret admirer, so she sent back an enormous packet -- an "Application to Write Rachel", which also demanded an audition tape and two sources.
I obtain Elder Poulsen's address from Hillary, and send a letter. Demanding to know who Elder Jolley is. And, I add, in lieu of Johnny Lingo, that Rachel is definitely not an eight-cow woman. It's two dragons, or no deal, since I want a dragon and Hillary will want a dragon as well.
I get two letters back... one from Elder Poulsen, who was rather thrilled at getting a letter. He also asked if he might be eligible to win our marriage pan (an entirely different story, which I may tell later) and told me to warn Rachel about Elder Jolley's audition tape.
The other letter was from Elder Jolley. He informed me that his name was not Oscar, but that it was Joshua. He continued to inform me that he was wondering how he was going to get into Rachel's inner circle of friends, but that by writing his companion, I had provided him with a great opportunity. He proceeded to beg me to be his co-conspirator. And he wanted to know what sort of dragon I wanted.
Well, I was tempted to reply back that I would certainly be his co-conspirator. However, upon further thought, I decided that I ought to inquire more about the position before accepting it. Especially after what Rachel said about the package she received from said Elder Jolley. He had filled out the entire application... and provided an audtion tape, where he read the entire book of Deuteronomy. (Holy crap.) She told me he was not eligible to marry her because his voice wasn't deep enough (tenor) and he was a mere six feet tall (too short...). He also didn't seem to be quite ominous enough -- he's mostly just a clown. So sad. They seemed rather perfect for each other. Well, that is it for comical stories for now. Toodaloo!
So, as always, you can contact me via email (jennamarie.griffin@gmail.com) or Facebook... or, if you love me extra special, you can call me up (602)577-2899 or perhaps send me snail mail: 366 E. 800 N., Provo, UT 84606. I'll be back for a little longer than a week and a half for Christmas break... not too long though. I'm flying in the evening of December 23rd, and then flying back the morning of January 3rd. And after that? I won't be back until the following Christmas. I don't that'll be too much of a problem, since I think I'm pretty good at keeping in touch. :)
Well, still no good stories. But hey, I can tell you a secret. Or, perhaps it isn't really a secret.
I have an involuntary shivering problem.
I'll be minding my own business, and then, like a Frisbee from the middle of nowhere -- it hits me. I shudder, sometimes violently.
Okay, okay, you say. That happens to everybody. But I say, no! It doesn't! Truthfully, most people shiver only when they have a good reason to... like say, it's freezing. Or maybe something creepy just happened. Or maybe someone sneaked up behind you and blew cold breath on your neck. (Oh, if you don't shudder at the thought, something is sooo wrong with you.)
But I shiver often enough and obviously enough to warrant concern.
I'll be sitting on the couch happily, thinking happy thoughts, being perfectly warm, and then -- graaghglghlgghaa! A series of nerves fire and it's a seizuresque shiver.
You know, it doesn't bother me, most of the time. Except --
Sometimes I shiver over and over and over again in a short period of time. When this happens, the muscles around my spine start to ache and I get a little shaky. But that's okay, it doesn't bother me that bad. Although when it happens on dates, he'll look over at me and nervously ask if I'm okay. It usually scares the living daylights out of whoever he is, even if I assure him this is perfectly normal.
Sometimes this happens: I'll have both my hands in front of me, and suddenly those nerves will fire -- and my arms will tense up -- and more nerves will fire -- and -- SMACK! I've clapped quite loudly, and my hands are stinging. And all this, involuntarily. I can only pray this never happens during a funeral. Or when I'm in the same room as a clap-activated bomb. Or when I'm trying to hide from a killer in a dark room with clapper lights. This could be potentially disastrous, no?
My dad is also quite concerned about this shivering phenomenon. He tells me I should see a doctor or something.
I say, Whhhyyy?! It's totally benign. The worst thing that ever become of it is... hm. Annoyance.
Well, he says, the doctor could give you some anti-seizure medication.
Yes, I say, but why would I want to be taking that for the rest of my life? I couldn't think of a good enough reason. Honestly... I can't stand the sight of blood, so we won't have to worry about me slicing a major artery during neurosurgery or anything.
About a month ago, my dad asked me -- Do you ever shiver like that when you're sleeping and wake up?
Naw, I say.
Never? Are you sure? He proceeds to interrogate me, and I answer truthfully. Soon, I realize... well, yes, I have.
See, sometimes, I wake up suddenly in the middle of night scared to death. I feel like either someone has grabbed me by the shoulders and given me a good, hard shake, or like I've fallen from a few feet in the air onto the bed. I used to attribute this to bad dreams which I didn't remember, but were intense enough to trigger a physical reaction... but... honestly, the shivering thing makes more sense.
Well, of course, my dad would be the first to wonder... What if you're cuddling with your husband and you both fall asleep and then you shiver and wake him up!?
Hm. I'd expect that wouldn't be enough to keep him awake for too long... I don't think that's a disaster. Honestly, if I were him I'd be more worried about wifey stealing all the covers. BAHAHA! And I think many normal couples suffer from the blanket-hog syndrome and the subsequent freezing awakeness of the thus coverless spouse, so I doubt a little shiver now and then would damage our relationship much.
So, all I can say about the shivers is... the condition is much too benign to worry about. Unless that clap thing happens in close proximity to my significant other's face... then I might slap him pretty hard without meaning to. That could damage our relationship much, ya?
Besides. It is obviously a neurological condition. And -- guess what. I happen to be studying neuroscience. What better field than that to have at your disposal if benign ever turns to malevolent. But for now, I feel no need to see a neurologist so I can get anti-seizure medication. All that would really do... is poison my liver. On the other hand... shivers aren't shortening my lifespan much, so I shan't worry about them.
Now for a secret missionary fan club update.
In other news... Clifton... er, Elder Dudley, has recently been stuck in the MTC due to Visa problems. He's supposed to go to the Mexico Monterrey East Mission. Well, he's not in the MTC anymore -- he's been temporarily assigned to labor in the Salt Lake City South Mission. Which I don't mind so much, because that means any letters he sends will still reach me relatively quickly, whereas if he were sending me something from Mexico, I'd probably have to wait for a long time. He sent me a picture of him and a few of his missionary buddies mimicking the Abbey Road cover in the MTC crosswalk. Genius. I shall have to frame it.
Will... er, Elder Budge, is still in the MTC, but he's leaving for Argentina on Monday. Excitement! In less exciting news, some of the other elders in his district... got scavies, and the hermanas in his district... have milk-chugging contests. Mostly he just wants out of the MTC.
And Ryan... er, Elder Strong... has been in Australia for a while. However, I finally got a letter from him. He wrote it almost a month ago, on that eternally long flight from San Francisco to Sydney. He read all ten letters within the first thirteen hours of that flight (in between Preach My Gospel and the Doctrine and Covenants, he assures me). Yikes... that must have been a rather boring flight. :D Thank goodness for email though. His mom forwards emails to me and his other BYU friends. I can tell you that he doesn't like Vegemite; he says it tastes like someone broke a bunch of pens and spread the inky stuff all over his toast. His companion kind of freaked him out at first because he says "I love you" to everyone and their dog, even when they get flicked off. And, most recently, he's pretty much waay excited about preaching the gospel. He loves it, and I'm pretty much jealous that I'm not serving a mission right now.
What else can I tell you?! Hm...
How about Elder Jolley? I can tell you about him. You don't know who he is. Neither do I really. I only recently found out that his first name was Joshua. Before that, for lack of a first name, I called him Oscar. Well, Elder Joshua Jolley is a good story.
I have mentioned my roommate, Rachel, but I don't remember how well I've described her to you. She is rather short. And squirrel-like, definitely, squirrel-like. She makes bizarre noises, and is usually laughing hilariously at something. She often fantasizes about the perfect man -- tall, dark, and ominous (T.O.D.) and preferably a bass or baritone who enjoys serenading. She has a goal to beat the height differential between her parents when she finds her one true love, and her ideal courtship probably involves numerous food fights and contests to see who can make me spray hot cocoa out my nose the farthest. If any of you are Facebook friends with me, look at my videos. There's one entitle, Territorial Dispute. This is Rachel and I fighting over a pillow. Vicious. Like spider monkeys, vicious.
Rachel has a high school friend named Elder Ben Poulsen, currently serving a mission in the Big Apple. Prior to his departure, I talked to him on the phone twice, and met him once (at his farewell). Rachel, Hillary, and I, the terrible trio, wrote him collective letters last semester... Actually, I remember one letter in particular where we all got lipsticks of different colors and kissed the envelope. And then mailed it away, hoping to freak out a few mailmen, Elder Poulsen, and his companion.
Well, at some point during the summer, Elder Poulsen got a companion named Elder Jolley. Rachel was still writing Elder Poulsen, of course. Letters which no doubt were full of random expressions like, "Look! Flaming phoenix squirrels!" "We'll blow up the ocean!" "Hillary and Jenna are Irishmen and I'm an Irishwoman!" "I got Jenna to spray hot cocoa out her nose, all over the kitchen!" "Wakakakakakaaa..."
So...
Rachel phones me and tells me a tale. She's been receiving love letters from Elder Jolley... and some of these letters referred to a future time when they'd be married.
I demand that she tell me everything she knows about him. Everything. Well, she doesn't know what his first name is. Or where he's from. Or anything. All she knows is what Elder Poulsen has told her. And all Elder Poulsen has told her is that the mysterious Elder Jolley takes his pants off at the dinner table. Awkward, yes, but upon reflection... if there exists a girl for a guy like this, it's a girl like Rachel. And at this point I understand why Elder Jolley is sending Rachel love letters.
Rachel was a little freaked out by her not-so-secret admirer, so she sent back an enormous packet -- an "Application to Write Rachel", which also demanded an audition tape and two sources.
I obtain Elder Poulsen's address from Hillary, and send a letter. Demanding to know who Elder Jolley is. And, I add, in lieu of Johnny Lingo, that Rachel is definitely not an eight-cow woman. It's two dragons, or no deal, since I want a dragon and Hillary will want a dragon as well.
I get two letters back... one from Elder Poulsen, who was rather thrilled at getting a letter. He also asked if he might be eligible to win our marriage pan (an entirely different story, which I may tell later) and told me to warn Rachel about Elder Jolley's audition tape.
The other letter was from Elder Jolley. He informed me that his name was not Oscar, but that it was Joshua. He continued to inform me that he was wondering how he was going to get into Rachel's inner circle of friends, but that by writing his companion, I had provided him with a great opportunity. He proceeded to beg me to be his co-conspirator. And he wanted to know what sort of dragon I wanted.
Well, I was tempted to reply back that I would certainly be his co-conspirator. However, upon further thought, I decided that I ought to inquire more about the position before accepting it. Especially after what Rachel said about the package she received from said Elder Jolley. He had filled out the entire application... and provided an audtion tape, where he read the entire book of Deuteronomy. (Holy crap.) She told me he was not eligible to marry her because his voice wasn't deep enough (tenor) and he was a mere six feet tall (too short...). He also didn't seem to be quite ominous enough -- he's mostly just a clown. So sad. They seemed rather perfect for each other. Well, that is it for comical stories for now. Toodaloo!
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
[Lack of] Adventures in Chandler?
Yes, the emails have stopped for now. People have kind of been asking for "Adventures in Chandler" and that sort of thing... but...
Well, the truth of the matter now is...
Nothing of interest is really going on with me. Life is boring, usually. I have been to church three times down here. I have gone to see Prince Caspian and Wall-E with the Burchfields. But besides that, there isn't a great deal of excitement going on around here.
I have been writing a lot of letters though. I suppose I could tell you about that since a few of you have been asking about my missionary friends.
Yesterday I sent away a few boxes of snickerdoodles to my friends in the MTC... a box to my rather clingy friend Elder Will Budge (Argentina Mendoza Mission, departing the MTC 08/18), a box to my little brother Elder Clifton Dudley (Mexico Monterrey East Mission, departing 08/04), and (of course) a slightly bigger box to my very good friend Elder Ryan Strong (Australia Adelaide Mission, departing 07/14). My son, not-yet-Elder Alex Compton, has not entered the MTC yet, but he will in September. His initial assignment? The Singapore Mission. I am writing quite a few of my other friends too, but I think those are the only ones you might remember.
I get the most letters from my little brother, of course. He has been in the MTC the longest, and before he left, I made him promise something to me... that no matter how busy he ever got as a missionary, that he would write back, at least a few lines (even if it was just, 'Querida mi hermana mayor, I'm alive and the gospel is still true! Love, Elder Dudley!').
So he has. I have gotten a few letters that are extremely short, and some that are decent in length. I am happy to get them all. The other day he even sent me a picture. I can't wait to get back to my little apartment in Provo, and get myself a spiffy picture frame. And then I will put it on the wall for Rachel, Hillary, and I to admire every day. I have sent him two boxes of cookies so far.
His mother also posts his letters on a website for all of his friends to read while he is away, along with other pictures. It is very useful. It even has a nifty countdown on it. Right now it says, "Your missionary returns in 721 days." But I'm not really going to pay attention to that. I wouldn't put it past my Clifton to extend.
Elder Strong has only been in the MTC for about a week and a half, but he has less than a week before he starts the journey to Australia. It is for this reason that he got a slightly bigger box of cookies -- I just don't have the money to send him cookies once he is in Australia (except perhaps for Christmas or his birthday). And besides, I put a few other things in his box. Napkins, duh. Ten letters. And a note of explanation.
Yes, ten letters. Let me explain, perhaps, because that would involve a story I could tell. Perhaps this email won't be quite so boring.
Actually, Ryan and I have been writing each other since long before he left. It started on my birthday. He sent me a letter, and I sent him a letter back, etc, etc, etc, until he went into the MTC. And somehow, mine were always two pages, front and back, handwritten, complete with doodles and drawings.
Apparently he liked them. While on the phone the night before entering the MTC, he said in his excited voice, "Ooh! Jenna!"
"...Yeah?"
"You should send me ten letters." And in a half-joking tone, "All on the same day!"
Incredulous, I responded, "On the same day! That would kill me! You know how long my letters are!"
"Hm..." he said seriously.
"That would be... twenty pages! And not to mention, ten stamps."
"Well... you could write one really, really, really looong one and then split it into ten little ones," he suggested.
I laughed (probably what he was trying to make me do the whole time). "Okay, okay..."
"Ten letters all at once, then," he said, more seriously, but still with a definite joking tone to it. As far as I can tell, this sort of tone means he isn't really joking and that he is very serious about it.
The last time I heard that tone of voice, he wanted me to make a Swedish fish pie... We were on the phone, and he was lamenting about how we couldn't make a Swedish fish pie. Well, I said. You could. Swedish fish in Jell-O in a pie crust so you could see them swimming around, and you could fashion the pie crust out of crushed graham crackers, or even better, crushed Teddy Grahams. I reminded him that it wouldbe purely decorative, and that neither Rachelle nor I would be too excited to eat it. Not when we could make a chocolate creme pie.
"You should still make a Swedish fish pie," he said in that strange serious-joking tone.
Needless to say... I didn't. Well, after that, he showed us up and made his own Swedish fish pie, using my idea exactly. He documented the whole process with pictures for proof that he really did.
As far as I could tell, Ryan really did want ten letters all on the same day, but I don't think I'll ever know if he was actually expecting to get them. To tell the truth, I was kind of afraid of what sort of silly antics he might pull if I neglected his ridiculous request.
So I started to write a really, really, really looong letter. And I finished it. And I couldn't bear to write any more or less than two pages, front and back, handwritten. Quite problematic, especially since that sort of letter is hard to split up into ten smaller ones.
What to do? Ten real Jenna-letters would take a long time to read. Missionaries don't have (or aren't supposed to have) that sort of time.
Well, there aren't a great many things to do to entertain myself with around here. Ten real Jenna-letters. I could do that. So I decided I would write him ten two-page letters. And then it occurred to me that Ryan was in for a very, very long journey to Australia. I then wrote the letters with the intent that he would read them during that very, very long journey.
So that's how it happened. I wrote ten two page, front and back, handwritten letters, complete with (sometimes comparatively exquisite) artwork. (My sisters were also in awe at how small I was writing.) Twenty pages might seem like a lot to you, but believe me -- after surviving IB? It was nothing. Well, not nothing. It took me a loooong time. A whole week and a half, because each letter took (on average) three hours. One took me five hours. But it wasn't difficult, and it gave me a goal, and something to do.
Once done with all ten, it was of course more cost efficient to stuff them in a box with a load of snickerdoodles and send them away. I explained to him when he was allowed to read them (not until he was travelling) and I assured him that it would never happen again (I have to explain that or else he'll ask for twenty next time). I'm sure he'll have plenty of time to read them on the way to Adelaide... In an email forwarded from his mother this morning, he said, "The journey is so long and far that it'll start on the 14th and end on the 16th. I'm leaving the Salt Lake airport and flying to San Francisco, then waiting for five hours, then flying for twenty hours to Sydney, Australia, then waiting for five hours more, then flying all the way to Adelaide, Australia." How long and boring could that be? Hopefully he runs into lots of interested people so that he can tell them about the Gospel and give them pass-along cards and such. If he doesn't, it could make for a very long and boring trip. Especially if he is one of those people who can't sleep on planes. (I hope for his sake that he can.)
Well, I suppose that is all. I'm getting my wisdom teeth pulled on the 17th. Eew. I hope to spend the last few days with a full set of teeth eating all my favorite foods. And maybe I'll write loopy letters to my missionaries after I get them pulled. I have a loopy letter from Ryan that he wrote after his were pulled. It is only fair that he gets one too... I also have a little cavity that they'll be filling. I'm rather bummed about that; I haven't had a cavity before.
I hope to maybe make a pie in the next week or so... it's time for July pie! I'm not sure what sort of pie I'll make though. Just for the record, so far here is the progress on our thirty pies:
1. Apr '08: cherry pie
2. May '08: chocolate creme pie x 2, lemon meringue pie
3. Jun '08: banana creme pie
4. Jul '08: we shall see...
After this month, a whole row on the pie chart Ryan made will be full. We didn't have much to do in May, can you tell?
My sister Becca starts color guard tomorrow. Whoot!
And... besides that, I think there is no more news.
I don't believe I will post again until I am back at BYU, come August 16th. Sorry to disappoint.
Monday, May 26, 2008
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?)
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?)
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