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.

Could my life be any more... random?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Well... did you get any?"

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

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

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

Oh man, oh man! It's snowing! Hard core!

Eehehehee!
Snow! It's snowing. Everything is turning white! Ahahaa! And we are already having snowball fights! :)
I also built a snowman.

Anyway, that's it for recent developments. In less recent news we have a few mildly interesting stories...

The Orchard
So... my Book of Mormon class has a party at my professor's orchard. Fun fun.

We pile out of the big university vans and toward a huge table full of raw hot dogs and hamburgers. Brother Wilson's first question was, "Soo.... who wants to cook?" He said this while motioning toward a big barbecue. Okay, so all the girls shrink away, probably thinking about how manly a job barbecuing things is. So I look over at the boys... Oh dear. They are also shrinking away from the grill as if it were toxic. Looks like a job for... JENNA THE BURNINATOR! I volunteer. Oh joy. Now I am slaving over the grill, hoping NOT to burninate anything. Then everyone saunters off into the depths of orchard... and I am left all alone.

Well, of course smoke follows beauty. And since I was the most beautiful (and only) person there, all the burger smoke drifted right in my face. Coughing, I finish grilling and look around. I'm all alone with the food... but I hear screaming and laughing farther in. I abandon the food and run off to find my friends.

There it is.

The zipline of death.

I approach as Roy comes zooming down. He is caught, and then Michelle goes. She is caught by a few guys. I stand next to Zach. "Have you gone yet?" he asks placidly. "No, I was grilling, remember?" "Ohhh... yeah." Eventually, I say, "Okay, I'll go I guess."

Everyone seems quite excited that I'm ziplining. Why? I wonder. Everyone was going, and no one seemed to excited, except for when Helen went Superman-style.

I jump on. Backwards. Just to mix things up.

Roy and Clifton start pulling me up to the top. I look down when we reach the top. "We're gonna race you, okay?" Roy yells up at me. I laugh. "Go ahead." They launch me... and take off as well. Hm.

I am falling backwards, and it wasn't as exciting as I though it'd be. So... just to make things more exciting, I started kicking and yelling like I was about to die.

That did the trick. ZOOOOOOOOM! I hear screaming behind me. THUNK! I hit the either the knot in the steel rope or a body, I'm not sure. I bounce high in the air, my feet just barely missing Erik's poor face. My head also missed the ground by a single centimeter.

I am out of breath from laughing so hard. Hillary is hyperventilating. "JENNA!!! Don't ever do that again! If you had gotten hurt I would have been legally obligated to help you!" Apparently she's medically trained... and just had my life flash before her eyes. Which I think is weird since she knows nothing about my life... :)

Hillary and I walk back over to where the food is. I grab myself some food and make my over to the campfire. Fun, I guess.

I get bored quickly... so I call up my Dad and talk to him.

Then things get boring again.

So... Brother Wilson brings out the marshmallows, looking warily at me as he sets them out next to the roasters and the campfire. I smile. "Don't worry... Rachel is here to duel with." Brother Wilson, a little relieved, leaves me with the marshmallows. I start roasting them.

Now I don't really like marshmallows... I just like burning them. I say so. Brother Wilson laughs. "Jenna, you missed your calling. You should have been a cub scout!" I look up at him, saying quite seriously, "Well, sorry, I wasn't born a boy."

There is laughter. I happily burninate the marshmallows. Hillary comes to burninate them with me. So does Ryan. I talk with Ryan for a while. We get into a debate about -- hair? He insists it takes guys just as long to do their hair as girls do. After unsuccessfully trying to persuade him otherwise, I just shake my head.

Then... there is an apple fight. BAMMM! Ryan is pelted. I laughed, and I would have joined in... except I'm already covered in bruises (not sure why, I blame sleepdancing). Yay?

Ryan and I talk some more about the most random things. Smiles. (His photo-smiles are really creepy!) Also the potential deadliness of the marshmallow roasters. Then we all burst into songs and sang hymns around the campfire for about half an hour.

Then we set off for the vans so that we could go home. I realize that I haven't nicknamed Ryan.
"Hey! You don't have a nickname yet! I've nicknamed nearly everyone except you! There's Cliftonius, Tsar Alexander, The Willinator, Isaacle... but I haven't nicknamed you!"
"Uhhh...."
I pause. "My dad calls you Grape Man 'cuz I told him about how I asked you to preference!"
"Oh... Grape Man? Grape Guy? ... Grape Crush?"
I laugh.
"Oh wait... that sounds like... never mind..."
"You know I'm going have to call you that now..." I am laughing so hard on the inside because he doesn't realize how accurate this is. Poor boy.

He also promised to bring some Grape Crush (the soda) since I'm never had it before... and thus my childhood is not complete (I was wondering why I hadn't grown up yet). He starts trying to figure out where he can get it... ooh, he sounds serious :P I'm excited... for soda.

When we get back on campus and pile out of the vans... Ryan walks me home. I joke about getting kidnapped between his hall and mine (they are right next to each other). "Well, anytime you need an escort..." "Haha, 3:30 in the morning?" I say it jokingly... but he said he wouldn't mind much, he has to get up early anyway. I think this is ridiculous and tell him so. And then I go inside. Where I am immediately teased by my roommates. Ugh.



Preference

Hillary, Rachel, and I decide we all want to go the Murder Mystery dance in Heber. Hillary has a car, but with three couples... well, let's just say there's not enough seats and it's a forty-five minute drive.
"Okay... so who are we throwing in the trunk?"
"Robert's the smallest... he should go in the trunk!"
"Yeah... but... he's the date of honor. I mean, Hillary's the driver..."
"Oh... good point!"
"Oooh... let's throw Ryan in the trunk!"
Hillary pipes in. "You could sit on each other's laps!"
Rachel and I give horrified looks to her. In near unison, we both exclaim, "I'm not sitting on Ryan's/Clifton's lap!"
Hillary, wide-eyed gasps, and then says, "No no no no! I meant -- I meant that Rachel could sit on Jenna!"
This seemed much more... comfortable. To both of us.


Cold Hands

Oh man, it's cold today. Jackie and I run off to the central building to exchange our dollar bills for quarters. On the way back, I realize my hands are pretty much frozen.

"Argh!" I say. "My hands are freezing! I need a man on both sides to hold hands with!" Jackie laughs so hard.

Later tonight, Jackie comes home, with bright red hands and covered in snow. "Ahhh! I need like... five warm coats and a boyfriend!"

So... we, the women in 126 Robison Hall, have come to the consensus that boyfriends are good for keeping warm. Except none of us have one :P



Well, that's all folks! I hope I'll actually have something interesting to write about next week! (I should, the preference dance is next Saturday!)