News!

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

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

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

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

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

Be proud!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Obnoxious and Serious Invasion of Privacy.

There isn't much interesting happening right now... just obnoxious things. And with finals approaching, we are all losing patience more quickly and well, we are fed up. Ticked off. One fuse too short. Upset. Furious, even.

One of my roommates, Aubrey, has a boyfriend. His name is Ron. He's a good guy and is our age. He hasn't been on his mission yet, but that's because he has to work and save up for it. (Strangely enough -- he shares a major and a job with me -- yep. He's a custodian at the library and a neuroscience major, just like me.) However... all of Aubrey's roommates have gotten quite sick of him. Including me. He NEVER leaves. His omnipresence is a tad bit obnoxious. Visiting hours are from 9am to midnight as per the all-important Honor Code. He kind of respects this. Kind of. Actually, not really. Not at all.

He's a bit clingy. Oh wait. Replace "a bit" with "very." So clingy that Aubrey and Ron are practically never apart. And when they are -- that either means that Ron is at work, Ron is at home and asleep and Aubrey is at home asleep, or Aubrey is in the bathroom (in which case Ron is likely to be found outside the bathroom door talking to her as she does her business...). So her space is invaded, of course, and she doesn't seem to mind that much.

The real problem here is that Aubrey has five roommates who also live in her apartment, and their privacy has also been invaded to the point of extreme annoyance. Haylee has the worst of it, because she sleeps in the same room as Aubrey.

If it's between 9am and midnight, he is pretty much guaranteed to be at our place. Unless Aubrey has a class; then he goes with her to that class, and then they both are gone. (Usually he just ditches his own classes.) The part I really hate -- it'll be five minutes past midnight, and he'll be lying on our couch.

"Ron. It's past midnight. OUT!" I'll say.

"I'm sorry," he'll say. And then not move. He usually isn't out until half past midnight. It bugs the heck out of me. That is most definitely against the Honor Code.

If he's not here by 9am each morning, he's here before then, eating breakfast with Aubrey.

"Ron! Get out! You're not allowed in yet!" Shannon would complain.

"I'm sorry," he says, and doesn't move. Again, against the Honor Code, most definitely.

And -- he just goes into Aubrey's room. Aubrey's roommate, Haylee, hates it -- I mean, he just stands by the door, but nonetheless, he is in the room. Boyfriendless Haylee can never escape from him, whereas the rest of us have our bedrooms that Ron never bothers to come into (because Aubrey isn't in them).

"RON! OUT OF THE BEDROOM!" I scream angrily.

"I'm sorry," he says, and ignores me.

He practically lives in our apartment, and all of us except for Aubrey HATE it.

Over Thanksgiving break, Rachel and I were expecting to be the only ones still here. We... were wrong. Ron and Aubrey were here. Aubrey -- that's fine, she lives here. Ron, okay during visiting hours. But he never left. He lost his keys, and his roommates all left for Thanksgiving. Instead of asking his landlord to be let in, or asking a male neighbor if he could spend the night... guess what Ron does? ... He would have slept in our apartment if Rachel and I hadn't been so upset at him. No, no, he slept outside our front door.

The way our apartment is set up is as follows: kitchen and living room downstairs, and bedrooms and bathroom upstairs. Guys aren't allowed in our bedrooms or bathrooms, and we like it that way. However, although there isn't anything wrong with men in the hallway up there according to Honor Code... the five of us who aren't Ron's girlfriend like to take these things called showers sometimes. And we'd like to be able to take these showers, and then open the bathroom door without fear that Ron will be standing there in the hallway to witness us wearing nothing but a towel or robe. (Most of us prefer to dress in our rooms -- usually the steam will fill up the bathroom, making it impossible to dry off properly, especially when you've got long hair that drip-drip-drips incessantly.)

Our solution?

Red tape!

When Ron and Aubrey were gone somewhere, the five of us shouted glories and hallelujahs (not kidding) and began to clean our little apartment hurriedly. It is impossible to clean when Ron and Aubs are here -- they are usually sprawled on the couch or messily cooking something together. Fine with us, except that they never clean up the messes they make. The five of us soon realized that everyone else was feeling the same thing -- "It bothers you too? Really, I'm not the only one? Oh gosh, I was afraid I was the only impatient one!" We had a Ron-bashing party in his rare absence. We soon discovered that we all deplored Ron's presence upstairs. And we decided that if that was bothering us all so much, that we should make it off limits.

Halfway up the stairs we drew a red line with tape, and wrote on it: "CHASTITY LINE: NO MEN BEYOND THIS POINT! THANK YOU!!! (We do take showers sometimes...)"

Except here's the problem... I'm not sure what made us think that a guy who doesn't take the Honor Code seriously would take our red tape line seriously.

Ron and Aubrey came home. Aubrey went upstairs. Ron followed.

"RON!" belted Rachel.

"What?"

"CAN YOU READ?!?!"

"What? Yeah, why?"

"I SAID, CAN YOU READ?!?! LOOK AT THAT RED LINE!"

He looked at it. "Oh. So?"

"Stay downstairs, Ron."

"Why?" he asked, puzzled.

"We don't like it when you're up here. We take showers sometimes, you know."

Ron looked over at our bathroom. "But no one's in the shower right now."

"SO?" the rest of us yelled. "WE DON'T WANT YOU UPSTAIRS!"

... And from then on he proceeded to ignore us. From his point of view, if Aubrey doesn't mind if he's up there, it's okay.

We don't know what to do. I would appreciate any advice in how to proceed... Because otherwise... Next step is for all of us to sit him down and confront him about it. And if he still doesn't comply? Honor Code Office. Which could lead to as serious a consequence as expulsion from the university. (I feel bad for saying this, but that would honestly delight me...) Harsh, perhaps. But he should have considered that before he angered five women.

On Socks and Hot Chocolate.

We had our first snow here in Provo this week. And I'd like to tell you of the joy my socks give me.

Last Saturday, in anticipation for the snow, Shannon and I went shoe shopping... I got winter boots, sneakers, and two pairs of church shoes that seemed like they'd survive snow and ice. We were almost going to go to the checkout line when...

"Oh no! All these shoes are black! I need black socks, then!" So Shannon and I went to get some socks. I wanted some nice, warm socks that make my feet happy in the deep of winter. However... it seems it is not common practice to make women's socks practical. Just cute. Who needs warm, cozy socks when you can have cute ones? Psh. It seems to be true of all clothing actually... women's clothing is lacking in the practical department, whereas men's clothing is pretty much just that. Practical, and little else. Where else do you find adorable little jackets that LOOK like they've got pockets, but upon inspection, you find that in fact, there are no pockets. The jacket was just made to look that way in the name of fashion.

You can even see this trend in WHERE you find socks. Women's socks are next to the hats and purses and belts and scarves. Women's socks are accessories. However, do you know where most department stores place mansocks? Next to the underwear. You see, socks are not accessories for men. They are a necessity. Why this difference? I don't know. And I don't understand it. I'm a girl. I get cold feet. Why can't I have thick, practical socks? Socks are not an accessory, ladies. Socks are a necessity, regardless of your gender. Especially if the snow is coming.

So... it is for this reason that Shannon and I made our way to find the mens' socks. Although I have rather small feet for a girl of my height, I've found that if I find the smallest mansocks I can, they are only slightly too big. And I can SO deal with only slightly too big! I found a pack of thick, black socks, and happily threw them in the cart. We got a couple of strange and uneasy looks from the men we ran into whilst gallavanting through the mansock section of Target... after all, we were awfully close to the men's underwear section.

I have always imagined what it will be like when I have free access to some guy's socks. I can just see it now. Newly married, my husband starts noticing that his sock supply has strangely been disappearing twice as fast as it did before he was married. And he will think that this is odd, and perhaps he is just imagining things. But then, one day, he'll look down at his wife's feet -- my feet -- and suddenly he will exclaim something along these lines... "THOSE ARE MY SOCKS!" And I will cackle, affirming his suspicions, and then refuse to give them back. I figure that if I warn him before I marry him that I will be stealing his socks -- and he still marries me -- I will be able to say that he knew before we got married that I would be stealing his socks. And it's his own darn fault if he didn't believe me when I told him so.

And it really is a very good thing that the BYU Honor Code forbids me from going into guys' bedrooms. Otherwise all my guyfriends last year would have noticed a slow and steady depletion of their sock supply during the winter months. I mean, what good is a little brother, if you can't steal his socks? Ah well. Clifton's feet were far bigger than mine anyway. I imagine that I could have fit two of my feet into a single one of his socks.

Anyway, besides socks, another necessity for winter survival is this wonderful thing called hot chocolate. I have a collection. Or, rather I did. Last week I had thirteen or fourteen different flavors. Off the top of my head, these are the ones I remember: milk chocolate, milk chocolate marshmallow, Belgian dark chocolate, mint chocolate truffle, mint chocolate marshmallow, chocolate cinnamon, Italian amaretto, French vanilla, dulce de leche, chocolate raspberry, orange creme, candycane, and roasted hazelnut. 'Twas amazing. The entire top shelf of my pantry is devoted to my hot chocolate collection.

Last Sunday night, when I walked into my apartment having just come home from work, I was met with a few of the following comments: "Jenna! I'm SO sorry!" "Hi... how much do you love us?" and "Uh... we have some bad news for you..."

I inspected their guilty faces plastered with guilty smiles and I knew.

"What happened to the chocolate?"

That was met with an uneasy (or hysterical, depending on the roommate in question) laugh. "Darn, you're good," commented Ron, my roommate Aubrey's boyfriend. I rushed over to the cupboards and looked up at my precious stash of hot chocolate should have been. I had left thirteen varieties. I saw a measly five where those thirteen used to be. When I opened the canisters, I found that most of the powder in the remaining cans was gone.

"Uhh... well, we were in charge of Linger Longer, and we didn't have anything else to feed the masses," commented one of my roomies. I understood. After ward prayer, the entire ward comes over to an apartment... which is supposed to provide some sort of treat for everyone. My roommates told the tale of the hot chocolate brigade. They had brought out the collection, and had lots of hot water ready. And the mugs? We only had about twenty or so, so they had a mugwashing team ready. And they'd crank out clean mugs and hot water, and then the ward members would mix their own pick of hot chocolate flavor from my collection. And they described to me how happy it made everyone. I didn't doubt it. It was so cold outside. My roommates described how popular our little 366 Red Brick apartment was -- people were packed like sardines in our teeny little kitchen and packed like packing peanuts in the living room. [I heard from outside sources how happy everyone was, so I think it wasn't just my roommates exaggerating to save themselves.]

It simultaneously made so happy and so sad.

So happy... because my hot choclate collection had served its purpose. It brought joy to people. That's what I wanted it for. I mean, people would come over, and I'd glowingly show them all the hot chocolate. And then tell them that they could have some whenever they wanted. No one ever took me up on that promise, except for tonight. When I wasn't there. Which was why I was so sad. I had been at work. I didn't get to see anyone smile. I didn't get to hear anyone's glee. I didn't get to see any cold people be warmed from something I gave. And because I had work every Sunday night, and I was so busy during the week, no one really knew who Jenna Griffin was. Nobody knew it was my collection, no one knew that I was the hero of the night. And I felt as invisible as ever.

My roommates have promised to replace all the hot chocolate that they gave away. So, I will soon have another quite formidable hot choclate collection. I suppose that once it is completely replenished, then I can have another hot choclate party... and I suppose that time I will be there, and I can see all the happy people.

Pizza Guy Serenade.

Apologies, apologies, apologies! It has been far too long since I sent out an email to y'all. Life has been pretty good. Busy, but good. Like… extremely busy. And an email is long overdue. Sorry!

I had a date two Fridays ago… but don't get too excited, I hadn't met him beforehand. See, being so busy and all, I haven't really had the opportunity to be noticed much by the guys in my ward. After mentioning this to Shannon, she decided to organize a group date, and she proceeded to set me up with her friend Carl. I had absolutely no objection to this, seeing as I hadn't been on a date for four months.

So, Friday night comes, and Shannon has pumpkins! And she made pumpkin dip, too, based on a recipe Rachel's mom had given us. Carl called to say he would be late, but Shannon didn't mind too much. See, Shannon had been having difficulty finding herself a date. No, it's not that she didn't asked anyone, but rather… every guy she's asked has been busy. She finally asked a guy in our ward named Jacob whom she'd been hoping to not have to ask (he likes her, she doesn't like him back, and she would prefer not to lead him on). After that had been worked out, Carl showed up, and the four of us sat in our living room for a moment until Jacob came. Then Shannon announced, "Okay! Let's go! Service date at the Wilk!"

We journeyed up the hill that we all live at the bottom of. Shannon and Jacob talked, and Carl and I talked. Carl mentioned that this is his first semester at BYU and that he just got off his mission three months ago.

"Where'd you serve?" I asked.

"Albania," came the answer.

I blinked. … … "Oh," I said. "I know someone who served there."

He looked up in surprise. "You do? Who?"

"Michael Smith?"

"Oh! I know him!" Carl exclaimed.

Oh dear. Remember Michael Smith? He's the one who I'm pretty darned certain liked me last spring term. You know. The one that visited me every day, threw a surprise birthday party for me, tried to con me into holding his hand, and graced me with a piggyback serenade? The smiley, manipulative one. Remember him? Yes. Him. He also served in Albania, and when he got back he wrote the new Albanian grammar book that the missionaries now use. "Really?" I said.

"Well, not really, I know who he is, and I did a few splits with him, but that's about it."

Phew. Which means I won't have to deal with any Michael Smith stories. Good.

We got to the Wilk, where we proceeded to put to cut out the pieces for school bags. Once Carl and I got tired of cutting fabric, we moved to the coloring tables. We got to color alphabet books for kids. Much more exciting. I freaking love coloring. I found out some more random trivia about my date… he is the fifth of thirteen children, went to Mesa High, and is a mechanical engineering major.

At one point, Shannon's date bit me (Me: "JACOB!" Jacob: "What? It was Shannon!" Me: "SHANNON! JACOB BIT ME!" Shannon: "JACOB!"). Scary… I mean, in past times when a guy starts to stare at me, I always get a little scared and hear myself thinking, "He looks like he's going eat me or something. Run!" Then I'll reassure myself that that's ridiculous… but you know, now I'm not so sure. Jacob scares me now, more than ever. A hint for the guys: don't bite your date or any of the other girls in the date group. Bad idea. We don't like it.

After we got tired of coloring, we headed back to our place. We gathered our pumpkins, newspapers, knives, markers, graham crackers, and pumpkin dip, and headed over to the 4-plex, where our friend Kelsey lives. Now there were four couples. Kelsey and her boyfriend as well as a married couple (that Shannon, Carl, and Kelsey knew) made our date group a party of eight. There were four pumpkins, so one pumpkin per couple.

Carl and I got our pumpkin and immediately began plotting its fate. He grabbed a newspaper and started doodling design ideas. He wasn't very good at it and gave up pretty quickly, handing the marker to me. "Draw something," he urged.

I shrugged, and started to draw pumpkin-type faces with quick strokes. I was unhappy with most of them, so as soon as I finished one face, I moved to another idea. "Wow," I heard. I continued to draw, waiting for him to say he liked one. "Whoa! Stop! That one looks like a bunny!" I looked down at one face I had just drawn. Its eyebrows did look a little like rabbit ears I suppose.

"Yeah," I said. "What about it?"

"Can you draw a bunny?" he asked.

"Uh," I said. I drew a silhouette of one. I hated it. So I kept trying to draw a better one, and I thought I was improving, but Carl kept pointing at the original one I had drawn and saying he liked it. Although it was definitely not my favorite sketch of the many I had drawn on the newspaper, he admired it with such awe that I couldn't refuse. He also requested that we make it a killer zombie bunny. So I added an arrow through his head, and let it hold a scythe.

So Carl gave me the pumpkin and watched expectantly. "Uh… you wanna draw it?" I asked. He shook his head and answered that he couldn't. I shrugged and duplicated the bunny on the pumpkin. He just kind of watched, which made me a little uneasy. He was still watching intently after I had finished, so I then picked up the knife and started to carve it. I had carved out about half of it when I offered the pumpkin to him again. "You wanna carve the rest?"

He shook his head. "No… You're doing a good job." I sighed and finished the carving. This happens every time I end up showing that I can draw while on a date… the guy stops drawing and just watches me draw. A little frustrating, because I like watching another person draw just as much as anybody else. I don't really care if they don't think they're good at it or not. I mean, I don't think I'm very good at in the first place.

Well, after the pumpkins were carved, Carl kind of shuffled his feet and said quietly. "Uhhh… do you wanna go on a walk?"

I blinked. "Sure?"

"It's just that I need to, um, make sure my research paper was received, and I need to go home and do that on my computer and uh… yeah…" He looked very, very embarrassed.

Shrugging, I repeated my previous answer. "Sure, let's go." We walked over to his place, and he dashed to his room. I made myself at home on the couch. 'Twas a comfy couch, really.

When he was done, we walked back to Kelsey's place, Carl apologizing all the while. I'm sorry the system was down earlier, I'm sorry, you must think I'm a loser, I'm sorry, I feel stupid for having to do homework on a date, etc. I dismissed the situation as trivial more than once, but he kept apologizing. Whatever.

When we got back, we had caramel apples, and took pictures. Carl held a knife at my throat for one of them to be funny buuuut... It was scary. Very scary. Another hint for the guys: holding a knife to your date's throat is also not a good idea.

After the pictures we sat in the living room and talked for a while. Carl and I were pretty much done contributing to the conversation about an hour into it, after which everyone else talked and we just listened. When the conversation finally died down, we went home. And I got a hug. (Yay!) And that was the end of that night.

Well, the next morning was Saturday, and we had cleaning checks. The six of us spent hours beautifying our little apartment. By the time we were done, the inspectors came by and peeked around, and passed us. Oh, whatever. We all collapsed on the sofa. And then...

"Pizza!" someone said.

I gasped, and three of us (myself included) shouted, "TIMMY!"

Hm. This needs a bit of explanation. A month or so ago, we were tired and order an extra-large pizza with every single meat topping available. Plus pineapple. When we tasted our heavy-toppinged pizza, we loved and decided that such a delightful creation was worthy of a name. So, we named it Timmy.

I immediately pulled out my laptop and my wallet. My dad and I share a credit card, which I am only allowed to use in times of pizza emergency. No, I can't get candy or clothes or anything else with this card. Just pizza. And this was definitely a time of pizza emergency... six, tired hungry girls with no energy left to fix up a meal? This calls for Timmy! Times two!

I don't know if any of you have ever ordered pizza online... but it's pretty fun. It's a lot easier to mega-customize your pizza without confusing the heck out of the person on the other end, and they even have a space to fill in special instructions for the delivery guy. Then once you order, you get to moniter the progress of your pizza... it tells when your pizza is being assembled, and by who; when your pizza has been put in the oven, and who put it there; when they boxed your pizza, and who did it; when your pizza is on its way and who is bringing it to you.

It is, in short, amazing.

We ordered two Timmys: one with a thin, foldable crust, and the other with a thick, deep dish crust. Mmmm. And of course, as has become tradition, special instructions were along the lines of, "Serenade us, please!"

And the wait began. We watched the computer screen in suspense as it notified us of the adventures our Timmys were having. Finally...

"GUYS! TIMMY IS COMING! AND OUR PIZZA DELIVERY EXPERT'S NAME IS DANIEL!"

We all scrambled around the house for all the extra change we could find. Daniel is a man's name. This is promising for the prospect of a serenade... last time our delivery expert was a girl. And she did not even mention our request for a serenade. She just kind of sniffed disdainfully at our choice in pizza. But Daniel? Not a familiar name. This is promising! We separated our pile of random coins and dollar bills into regular tip and serenade tip. You can't blame us for getting our hopes up. Once the tip was assembled, we all watched out the window in eager anticipation.

Finally... a Domino's car parked in front of our house.

"Eee! Pizza car!"

"I can't see, is he good looking?"

"I can't tell from here! Can you see him? Does he look like the sort of guy that would sing?"

"I don't know, I don't know, I think he's cute though, but the window is too dark!"

We clamored around, unable to wait. Finally, the pizza delivery expert Daniel got out of the car with Timmys in hand. And walked up our sidewalk trying to surpress a grin.

"Guys, I think he's going to sing! He can hardly contain himself!"

"Eeeeeeeeeee!!!"

We opened the door.

"Uh hi," said Daniel. "Are there any guys here?"

"... No," we replied.

"DANG IT!" he exclaimed, handing us our precious Timmys. "I was hoping for some back up." He moved into serenade position. "Okay, so I thought of the most romantic song I know..."

And with that, he burst into song.

LOUD song. Head tilted back and guitar stance and everything.

"Just a small town girl... living in a LONELY WORLD..." And with that he continued. And he was into it. Three minutes, he goes into a guitar solo... after which he confesses that he doesn't know the rest. We don't care. The six of us burst into applause, and say, "Hold on, we need to get you a bigger tip!" We scrounge around the house for even more tip than we had originally planned... We ended up handing the guy nearly ten dollars in smalls bills and coins... which is nearly a 40% tip. But hey, he deserved it. And after he left, we mourned over our observation that he was married while we enjoyed Timmy. But oh, Timmy was good.

*If any of you are Facebook friends with me, I've been tagged in a video of our pizza guy serenade and you can watch the bit that we caught on camera. It was amazing. Although it was a million times more exciting in person than it is on tape. :D

Fall 2008 -- Meet the Roommates.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

First, Rachel, from Bountiful, Utah.

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

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

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

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

Congrats if you understood that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shannon, from Mesa, Arizona.

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

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

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

Haylee, from Sandy, Utah.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EXCEPT...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love, Jenna the Queasy.