I passed my spring classes with flying colors. I was the number one student in chemistry – pretty amazing, I think. Yes? Yes. Well, summer term has started. There was virtually no intercession between finals and the start of the new term. This term I’m taking psychological statistics and world religions.
Psych stats… is, in my opinion, excruciatingly boring. In order to fully understand this paragraph, please remember that I am among the smaller population of people who are completely and absolutely comfortable with math in all its many forms and joys. However, this class is tailored to a completely different audience: psychology students who loathe, fear, and suck at math.
So you might imagine how awful it might be for me to endure such a class. The first day of class mostly consisted of the professor trying to comfort the class and stop them from freaking out, and trying to ensure the students that math really is okay and isn’t as scary as they think it is. The lectures and activities are carried out under the assumption that no one is going to get it the first time the information is presented. So, built into the class is endless repetition… Just to make sure each student gets it before moving on to a new topic.
Basically, the professor spoon feeds teeny tiny bits of stats – one spoonful at a time. And then he let’s you chew on that for ten minutes or so, swallow, and then digest it before presenting you a new spoonful. Um, thanks, but just freaking give me the whole bowl of beans and let me shovel it in my mouth at my own pace.
Even worse… it’s a four credit class. Um, I’ve have two-credit classes which require more study and mental fortitude. I understand that many of the students appreciate and need the slow and repetitive approach to teaching statistics… but can’t you understand that putting me in such a class is sure-as-heck going to frustrate me.
I miss chemistry. Badly. In fact, I miss using my brain. I’m heavily considering approaching the chemistry professors and begging them to let me do research with them. Oh, how I would love that. Plus, I need to start doing research so that I can get into medical school one day…
The thing is, I need that darned psych stats class. Gah! I also need the world religions class I’m taking to fulfill the GE requirements. And oh, how I infinitely prefer that class to the psych stats class! The professor is Korean and has a heavy accent, but I find that if I sit in the front, I manage to understand him. I find
the subject material for that class intriguing. I only get three hundred minutes of that a week, though. And that’s all… Sigh.
Well, that’s my academic life. Me struggling to stay awake in a supremely pointless statistics class.
But!
My dear Arizonan friends, I bring you good news. I am coming to visit you guys soon. The week immediately following the Fourth of July, I will be in Arizona. Just sayin’. (Although, I’d warn you that I’d prefer to spend most of my time with my family rather than all over the place with a gajillion random people.)
In other news… I am considering oh so many things I’ve never considered before. For instance, I am seriously considering being an RA (Resident Assistant) next year. Why? Well… in times such as these, what of being paid to live with freshmen sounds bad? I would get a nice $356 paycheck every two weeks. I would get to know new people… The laundry would be cheaper ($1 instead of $2.25 per load)… I wouldn’t have to climb a hill to campus everyday… I would get my own room… It would force me to not take a ridiculous class schedule so as not to overload myself… It is nearly impossible to get fired unless you neglect your duties (can you say steady job?)…
And I’m just excited about it.
Granted, here are the disadvantages to doing that:
I would be moving into a ward where nearly all the men are premies. … Lame. Might as well shoot my dating life in the foot. For the RA application, you are required to get an ecclesiastical endorsement from your bishop. So I went and got one. The bishop basically just said, Are you sure? We have a very good group of young men here… and he proceeded to give me a rundown of all the happy dating/engaged couples in the ward. He’s a funny man, but he didn’t have to tell me I’d be kissing my dating life goodbye for awhile. Oh, I know – I am acutely aware of this fact. I shall weep bitterly if I end up leaving.
Also not particularly exciting… I would basically be mom to 60-85 teenage girls (depending on the size of the hall), most of which wouldn’t be very mature. I would most likely hear a lot of “Like, omg, I can’t believe he just did that...” and “That is, like, so retarded” and “So-and-so is really cute, but boys are retarded and dumb and like, we don’t need them.” (Yes, I hear stuff like this all the time from freshman girls during random encounters on campus.) Oh the drama that will inevitably ensue, unless I am miraculously charged with the care of 60-85 unusually mature girls.
You see, I was very lucky to have been placed in Robison Hall my freshman year, which (on the whole) housed a group of girls a bit more mature than your average run-of-the-mill group of girls fresh out of high school. My RA Tess would frequently say how lucky she was.
So I’m a little nervous, but really… I’m more excited. I think I want to do this, even with the potentially grueling and obnoxious consequences. I think I could do it.
And… what else? My health has been improving, although this last Sunday I got miserably sick during church – this lasted all day. And of course, at least fifty people wanted to know what they could do to help. And I didn’t know, but I graciously accepted gifts of saltines and 7-Up from my visiting teachers.
I’ve been eating little bits of bread. I’d say that this was exclusively for experimental purposes, but that’s a lie. I can’t help it. Bread is some good stuff. And hot dogs aren’t quite the same without a bun… and pizza wouldn’t be pizza without the crust. And I love pizza. But I haven’t been getting violently ill… So… I’m still avoiding it, but not completely.
Anyway, that’s about all for now. Love ya, Jenna!
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Frustrations and Celebrations.
Celebrate -- I am completely finished with my dance class. This is the third time I've taken this particular course -- and I finally have a nice shiny Silver American dance medal to add to my collection.
However, this has also given me much to be frustrated about. See, the second time I took this class, all my test scores were consistently two or three points higher than the scores I've gotten the third time around. You see my frustration then; tests are basically graded on how good you actually are, and since the scores are lower, that would indicate I've gotten worse. In my mind, this is preposterous. I've been actively engaged in every dance class -- I mean, my mind was constantly working on something. I'd work on technique like no one else I knew in a silver level class. And yet my test grades never were that great... and the grader's comments were always something along the lines of, "You look weak." Or, "You look like you're going to pass out! Have more confidence in yourself!"
The real stinger was yesterday -- the medals exams. I didn't feel weak, and heaven knows I don't freak out for tests -- I'm always calm and confident. I watched the people who had tested before me as they got their results back. Nearly everyone had certificates with official-looking gold stickers signifying "honors." And so, I fully expected my results to come out with an honors sticker on it as well. I mean, I work harder at this than most of the students in my class... and one of my friends who forgot the steps and just stopped dancing during the exam to due extreme flusterfication got the honors sticker.
So, imagine my horror when mine comes out -- stickerless and unglorified. It was like a punch in the face. And the comments... yes, just as usual, I look weak and I don't look confident. However, there weren't any comments about bad technique. They said I had really good technique, but I needed more energy, confidence, and strength. Um -- do I really look that bad? How was my dancing scored lower than the person who I saw (and I know the judge saw) biffed it on the dance floor? I followed every single step, I know my footwork was pretty darned good, and my posture is impeccable. All the men in my class say I'm fun to dance with and easy to lead... I've spent fourteen months working on this dance curriculum and I score worse than my classmates who only spent two months on the same stuff! I don't understand...
Hurt and stung, the reactions of some my classmates to their scores only seemed to make it hurt worse. One girl whose scores were higher than mine was exuding vibes of extreme discontent and displeasure because she didn't get high honors -- only honors. Well, I know she deserved the scores she got. And another girl -- well, her scores were just barely below mine. She burst into tears when she got her scores back.
I finally snuck out of class early because I was so discouraged. I stuck my shiny silver medal onto my backpack next to my two bronze ones and walked home in the thunderstorm. If I ever passed anyone, I made sure my umbrella was in the way of my face -- I didn't want anyone to see me. I felt awful. The dominant thought in my head was just this -- if I work that hard at dancing, and I'm still not doing well, I must not be meant for dancing. Which is a shame... I love to dance. But apparently, I just can't be a good dancer... When I got home, I wanted nothing more than to just curl up and sleep it off.
However, this was obviously not meant to be.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
I look through the eyehole -- home teachers? What are they doing here? I don't want to see them. It would basically just be, "Ooh, you look awful. How can we help you?" I don't know. I'm just discouraged, and I want to be left alone. I ignore them, and eventually they assume no one is home and leave.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
One of my friends. I ignore them too.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Oh dang. Someone else who loves me. Ignore.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
A fourth set of visitors? ...Three people who love me? At this point, I just shake my head, look up at the ceiling in submission and accept that tonight is not the night I get to spend alone sulking. I open the door. Carlos, Kjirstin, and Ashley's reaction to seeing me -- well, not encouraging in the slightest. Their eyes widened and instead of a greeting, Kjirstin asks, "Are you okay?"
I just shake my head serenely.
Well -- they abducted me, made me dinner, and sat me down and watched a movie with me. Coincidentally -- the movie they picked? Take the Lead. A ballroom dance movie. I just groaned inside. But you know what? There was actually a short scene in that movie that made me feel a little better. There was a girl who wasn't very good at dancing -- and finally, frustrated and discouraged, she exclaimed to her instructor, "I guess I'm just not meant to dance." The instructor asks, "Well, do you like to dance?" She says, "Well, yeah..." And the wise reply is: "Then you are meant to dance."
[This seems to be a recurring motif -- every time I get discouraged with dancing, it seems I am forbidden from giving up and God finds some way to tell me to keep going. Every single time. Every time I think I'm wasting my time, it seems like heaven's response is to encourage me to spend more time and effort on it. And, well, I am still dancing. Although, I cannot take any dance classes this summer term, I will be attending social dance club every week -- and then, in addition to that, I seem to have moved into a ward densely populated with ballroom dancers, evidenced by the popularity of a weekly ward ballroom dance night. Strange, is it not?]
Anyway, after the movie was over, I went home -- but I couldn't just go to bed. Comments on my weak dancing kept running through my head. Finally, I thought, well, am I really weak? I don't know. How can I tell how weak I am exactly?
An idea did indeed come to me. I wanted to see how many push-ups I could do.
So I got down on the ground, and settled down on my knees, and then lowered down into a push-up -- and to my shock, I could not push myself back up. No! I refused to fall though. I breathed as best as I knew how... okay, Jenna, push yourself up! And yet I could not move. As usual, I was being stubborn, so I refused to just fall down. So I just held it, exerting all my mind and energy into pushing myself back up. But no, I was motionless -- at least until I started to shake violently. At this point, all my obstinance was swallowed up in shock from the realization that I, indeed, was so weak that I could not even do a single pushup.
And I fell. And for the first time all night, I burst into tears and sobbed. All along, the dance teachers saw what I couldn't -- that my strength is pretty much nonexistent.
I finally realized that although I've been feeling wondrous, splendid, and just really good in general -- I'm not healthy. I've just fooled myself into thinking that I'm doing fine because well -- my point of reference is how awful I felt when I ended up in the emergency room that one time... and when I couldn't walk up to my apartment without help... and when the simple task of pouring a bowl of cereal sapped all my energy. Of course, if I'm comparing how I feel now to how I felt then, I'd say, Wow! I'm doing just great!
And yet, in reality, I have a long way to go until I am fully recovered. That's the theory of relativity for you. Blegh.
In other news --
I only have finals left in chemistry and my Pearl of Great Price class. My last chemistry midterm ended up being a 97% (whoot!) and my eight-page religion research paper was a 98% (double whoot!). Academically, I seem to be doing well, to say the least. I am not concerned about my finals in the slightest. I have no reason to fear either of them -- I already have most of the term's material memorized and down pat.
As far as the bread goes...
I figured it out.
I'm allergic to yeast. Plain old bread makes me sick. Rice bread with yeast makes me sick. Vegemite (basically just yeast extract) makes me sick. Grapes (which have yeast in their skins) make me sick. White flour (which has B vitamins derived from yeast added) makes me sick. And sugary stuff, including some chocolate bars, only makes it worse because yeast grows off of sugar. We have a winner. Yeast is the culprit methinks.
Also supporting this theory, I don't get sick when I eat Cream of Wheat or whole wheat tortillas, so it's not the wheat itself. And it isn't the gluten -- barley also has gluten, and barley doesn't make me sick.
So... I can have pancakes still! And pie (oh, sweet relief)! And banana bread! YAY!!! Oh, life is okay, methinks.
And yet... bread, my number one favorite food in the world, is off limits. And grapes, which come in at about number ten on my favorite foods list, are also off limits. I'm not really all that disappointed about having to avoid Vegemite, though... the best description of the flavor of Vegemite I've ever heard was from Ryan Strong: it's like breaking open a black ink pen and then spreading the ink all over toast. Mmmm. Pen ink. Nasty, nasty pen ink.
So... 'tis the middle of June.
Which means little brother Clifton has been out for over a year! Bwee! I can start counting down now!!! Not that I have started to count down... but it seems now that the option is open for me to do so should I feel the urge. :) Strange. (I don't like counting down until it's been over half-way. It seems just rather pointless until then.)
Mmm... some of you have asked how my missionary friends have been doing. They've been doing well, as far as I can tell. It always seems to me that when I hear from them, they don't really say much about about what's going on with them though. They usually just reply to letters I've written. Lately, the primary message I've been getting from them is concern for my wellbeing because as far as they've been able to tell, I've been sick for a long, long time. And yeah. I kind of have to just laugh to myself, because it's true.
Well, I'd just like to close with this statement:
I just did a pushup. :D
Love, Jenna
However, this has also given me much to be frustrated about. See, the second time I took this class, all my test scores were consistently two or three points higher than the scores I've gotten the third time around. You see my frustration then; tests are basically graded on how good you actually are, and since the scores are lower, that would indicate I've gotten worse. In my mind, this is preposterous. I've been actively engaged in every dance class -- I mean, my mind was constantly working on something. I'd work on technique like no one else I knew in a silver level class. And yet my test grades never were that great... and the grader's comments were always something along the lines of, "You look weak." Or, "You look like you're going to pass out! Have more confidence in yourself!"
The real stinger was yesterday -- the medals exams. I didn't feel weak, and heaven knows I don't freak out for tests -- I'm always calm and confident. I watched the people who had tested before me as they got their results back. Nearly everyone had certificates with official-looking gold stickers signifying "honors." And so, I fully expected my results to come out with an honors sticker on it as well. I mean, I work harder at this than most of the students in my class... and one of my friends who forgot the steps and just stopped dancing during the exam to due extreme flusterfication got the honors sticker.
So, imagine my horror when mine comes out -- stickerless and unglorified. It was like a punch in the face. And the comments... yes, just as usual, I look weak and I don't look confident. However, there weren't any comments about bad technique. They said I had really good technique, but I needed more energy, confidence, and strength. Um -- do I really look that bad? How was my dancing scored lower than the person who I saw (and I know the judge saw) biffed it on the dance floor? I followed every single step, I know my footwork was pretty darned good, and my posture is impeccable. All the men in my class say I'm fun to dance with and easy to lead... I've spent fourteen months working on this dance curriculum and I score worse than my classmates who only spent two months on the same stuff! I don't understand...
Hurt and stung, the reactions of some my classmates to their scores only seemed to make it hurt worse. One girl whose scores were higher than mine was exuding vibes of extreme discontent and displeasure because she didn't get high honors -- only honors. Well, I know she deserved the scores she got. And another girl -- well, her scores were just barely below mine. She burst into tears when she got her scores back.
I finally snuck out of class early because I was so discouraged. I stuck my shiny silver medal onto my backpack next to my two bronze ones and walked home in the thunderstorm. If I ever passed anyone, I made sure my umbrella was in the way of my face -- I didn't want anyone to see me. I felt awful. The dominant thought in my head was just this -- if I work that hard at dancing, and I'm still not doing well, I must not be meant for dancing. Which is a shame... I love to dance. But apparently, I just can't be a good dancer... When I got home, I wanted nothing more than to just curl up and sleep it off.
However, this was obviously not meant to be.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
I look through the eyehole -- home teachers? What are they doing here? I don't want to see them. It would basically just be, "Ooh, you look awful. How can we help you?" I don't know. I'm just discouraged, and I want to be left alone. I ignore them, and eventually they assume no one is home and leave.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
One of my friends. I ignore them too.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
Oh dang. Someone else who loves me. Ignore.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
A fourth set of visitors? ...Three people who love me? At this point, I just shake my head, look up at the ceiling in submission and accept that tonight is not the night I get to spend alone sulking. I open the door. Carlos, Kjirstin, and Ashley's reaction to seeing me -- well, not encouraging in the slightest. Their eyes widened and instead of a greeting, Kjirstin asks, "Are you okay?"
I just shake my head serenely.
Well -- they abducted me, made me dinner, and sat me down and watched a movie with me. Coincidentally -- the movie they picked? Take the Lead. A ballroom dance movie. I just groaned inside. But you know what? There was actually a short scene in that movie that made me feel a little better. There was a girl who wasn't very good at dancing -- and finally, frustrated and discouraged, she exclaimed to her instructor, "I guess I'm just not meant to dance." The instructor asks, "Well, do you like to dance?" She says, "Well, yeah..." And the wise reply is: "Then you are meant to dance."
[This seems to be a recurring motif -- every time I get discouraged with dancing, it seems I am forbidden from giving up and God finds some way to tell me to keep going. Every single time. Every time I think I'm wasting my time, it seems like heaven's response is to encourage me to spend more time and effort on it. And, well, I am still dancing. Although, I cannot take any dance classes this summer term, I will be attending social dance club every week -- and then, in addition to that, I seem to have moved into a ward densely populated with ballroom dancers, evidenced by the popularity of a weekly ward ballroom dance night. Strange, is it not?]
Anyway, after the movie was over, I went home -- but I couldn't just go to bed. Comments on my weak dancing kept running through my head. Finally, I thought, well, am I really weak? I don't know. How can I tell how weak I am exactly?
An idea did indeed come to me. I wanted to see how many push-ups I could do.
So I got down on the ground, and settled down on my knees, and then lowered down into a push-up -- and to my shock, I could not push myself back up. No! I refused to fall though. I breathed as best as I knew how... okay, Jenna, push yourself up! And yet I could not move. As usual, I was being stubborn, so I refused to just fall down. So I just held it, exerting all my mind and energy into pushing myself back up. But no, I was motionless -- at least until I started to shake violently. At this point, all my obstinance was swallowed up in shock from the realization that I, indeed, was so weak that I could not even do a single pushup.
And I fell. And for the first time all night, I burst into tears and sobbed. All along, the dance teachers saw what I couldn't -- that my strength is pretty much nonexistent.
I finally realized that although I've been feeling wondrous, splendid, and just really good in general -- I'm not healthy. I've just fooled myself into thinking that I'm doing fine because well -- my point of reference is how awful I felt when I ended up in the emergency room that one time... and when I couldn't walk up to my apartment without help... and when the simple task of pouring a bowl of cereal sapped all my energy. Of course, if I'm comparing how I feel now to how I felt then, I'd say, Wow! I'm doing just great!
And yet, in reality, I have a long way to go until I am fully recovered. That's the theory of relativity for you. Blegh.
In other news --
I only have finals left in chemistry and my Pearl of Great Price class. My last chemistry midterm ended up being a 97% (whoot!) and my eight-page religion research paper was a 98% (double whoot!). Academically, I seem to be doing well, to say the least. I am not concerned about my finals in the slightest. I have no reason to fear either of them -- I already have most of the term's material memorized and down pat.
As far as the bread goes...
I figured it out.
I'm allergic to yeast. Plain old bread makes me sick. Rice bread with yeast makes me sick. Vegemite (basically just yeast extract) makes me sick. Grapes (which have yeast in their skins) make me sick. White flour (which has B vitamins derived from yeast added) makes me sick. And sugary stuff, including some chocolate bars, only makes it worse because yeast grows off of sugar. We have a winner. Yeast is the culprit methinks.
Also supporting this theory, I don't get sick when I eat Cream of Wheat or whole wheat tortillas, so it's not the wheat itself. And it isn't the gluten -- barley also has gluten, and barley doesn't make me sick.
So... I can have pancakes still! And pie (oh, sweet relief)! And banana bread! YAY!!! Oh, life is okay, methinks.
And yet... bread, my number one favorite food in the world, is off limits. And grapes, which come in at about number ten on my favorite foods list, are also off limits. I'm not really all that disappointed about having to avoid Vegemite, though... the best description of the flavor of Vegemite I've ever heard was from Ryan Strong: it's like breaking open a black ink pen and then spreading the ink all over toast. Mmmm. Pen ink. Nasty, nasty pen ink.
So... 'tis the middle of June.
Which means little brother Clifton has been out for over a year! Bwee! I can start counting down now!!! Not that I have started to count down... but it seems now that the option is open for me to do so should I feel the urge. :) Strange. (I don't like counting down until it's been over half-way. It seems just rather pointless until then.)
Mmm... some of you have asked how my missionary friends have been doing. They've been doing well, as far as I can tell. It always seems to me that when I hear from them, they don't really say much about about what's going on with them though. They usually just reply to letters I've written. Lately, the primary message I've been getting from them is concern for my wellbeing because as far as they've been able to tell, I've been sick for a long, long time. And yeah. I kind of have to just laugh to myself, because it's true.
Well, I'd just like to close with this statement:
I just did a pushup. :D
Love, Jenna
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Updates On Life.
Well, I think within the past year in general it would certainly be true if you accused me of not keeping you guys constantly updated on my life. That’s a shame, folks. However, I’ll try to renew my efforts.
Academically, life is splendid. In fact, things are more than splendid. I share the following at my father’s request – I think he just wants to be able to brag, and if I back him up, it must be true.
I’ve been quite sick as of late, which I’ll update you on later, but I’ve been working with my professor to make sure I don’t get too behind. What I figured out is this: there are periods of acute energy and productivity, and there are much longer periods of energylessness and such. I explained this to Dr. Macedone, and after some discussion, he decided that he’d let me work at my own pace on turning in lab reports and homework and such.
That was pretty darned nice of him, so I’ve done my best not to be behind the rest of the class, so he can stay on top of everyone’s grades.
After the first exam, I went to his office to turn in a homework assignment. However, I couldn’t just leave after that. Dr. Macedone is the sort of guy who is genuinely interested in how his students are doing and color coordinates his PowerPoint presentations to match the shirt he happens to be wearing. So we got to talking about how I’m doing.
“How’d the test go for you?” he asked.
“Pretty good, I think.”
“What was your score?”
“67…” The test was scored out of 71 points.
“Hey! Wasn’t that the top score?” he beamed.
“Um… I don’t know?”
Pretty darned excited all of a sudden, my chemistry professor whirled around in his chair to do some tapping at his computer. “Aha! It was! Ooooh, that’s pretty good!” Dr. Macedone sometimes gets ridiculously excited. This was one of those times. He’s also fascinated with grades. In his spare time, he reads the writings of Joseph Smith, plays with lasers, and runs statistical analyses on grade data. I’m not kidding.
In his excited frenzy, my chemistry professor informed me that I’m doing spectacularly well in my chemistry class. In fact, I have the highest grade– I have high scores on all my labs, my quiz and test scores are ridiculously high, and I have a perfect homework score.
Dr. Macedone then continued to rave – and then started to tell me how impressed with me he was. He had expected me to struggle in his class when he found out how sick I was, and he was extremely surprised to find that I was doing as well as I was. He complimented me on my attention to detail, citing numerous impressive discoveries I had made in lab that no one else had noticed. After five straight minutes of heavy praise, he says, “Every once in a while you get students who stand out from all the others… Well, what I meant by all that is, what are your life plans?”
I blinked. “Erm… well, I’m planning on medical school at the moment…”
“Yes! Okay, do you know what this means? Okay. Okay! What I wanted to tell you is that when you need a letter of recommendation, I would be more than happy to write you one. I have all sorts of impressive stories I can tell them that’ll make any medical school want you real bad. Okay?”
“Okay.” I smiled. I need to figure out how to handle excessive praise. I’m still not sure how to react, especially when it comes from someone in authority.
There, Dad. I did your bragging for you. :)
In other news of note – I am single again. Which I have decided is acceptable, despite the occasionally overwhelming longing to be held and having no one to hold you. (I haven’t had this problem for a few months. I suspect though that at some point in the near future I’ll have this problem, worse than I did before I dated Jared.)
Jared and I dated for two months, and Friday night we decided to break it off. I’m okay, really. My side: I was getting extremely frustrated because I’d never see him and then when we’d try to arrange to see each other more often, it never worked out. Ever! Although I didn’t like him any less than I did before, I was really starting to get mightily stressed out about the whole thing. Taking that and several other factors into account, I decided that I’d bring it up on Friday night when I saw him.
Only Friday night came, he showed up – and he was the one who brought it up and suggested we break up. I wasn’t expecting that… he still likes me an awful lot, but he had been thinking about getting more serious. And seeing as neither of us had had a boyfriend or girlfriend before, he didn’t see how we could make a wise decision about that without having dated other people. Not to mention that the relationship was getting ridiculously hard to maintain, and was likely to only get worse. We are both rather busy people, and it seems that we’ll be even busier people in the near future.
So really, it was quite possibly the easiest breakup in the history of the planet, at least that I’ve ever heard of. We both agreed, and after that, it wasn’t awkward. It was just casual. We were just friends again. And if I need a ride to the grocery store, or he needs a buddy to do something with, we’ve still got each other. It’s pretty nice, actually.
The few of my friends who I’ve told about the breakup immediately demand, “Are you okay?” And I just respond calmly, “Completely.” And then they just kind of shake their heads a little in a sort of disbelief. One commented that Jared and I are both too level-headed and logical about everything. I laughed and responded that I do indeed freak out about stuff. The retort to that was that I’m levelheaded even when I’m freaking out. Someone explain that one to me. I don’t understand how you can freak out in a levelheaded manner.
More news! In the health headlines…
Mostly I’m doing quite all right. My immune system is still attacking my life. The most recent immune problem to befall me? I may have developed an allergy to something in bread. When I eat a lot of it, I get sick. One day I ate four slices of bread – but that resulted in vomiting for about an hour and feeling awful the rest of the day. And whenever I much bread, I start feeling a tad sick again. People keep saying, well then, you’re probably gluten-intolerant.
What do I say to that? Well, I suppose that’s possible, but there’s a lot of stuff in bread that could be causing violent illness when I eat it. Yes, the gluten is one suspect, but there’s also the wheat and yeast that could be the culprits. I personally suspect wheat – because my little sister is allergic, and my mom says she has a hard time with it too.
It’s so sad, though. The bread sickness is a recent development – bread has always been my favorite food on the face of the planet. I make ridiculously good homemade bread – and now I don’t have much reason to make it. I made some last Sunday for the sacrament (my ward has something against store-bought bread methinks), and when Brad raved about the excellence of the bread, I told him to take the extras home. No one really believed me when I said I didn’t want it. But I didn’t. Really.
People give you funny looks when you’re at a fast food place, and you really want a hamburger, and you ask for lettuce instead of a hamburger bun.
So… once I find some rice flour, I’ll experiment with that, and if it turns out rice bread makes me sick too... that rules out both wheat and gluten that are making me sick, and probably means it’s the yeast I have a problem with. Meh.
It’s so sad. I love bread. But now, my life is turned upside down. I see a succulent hamburger, and shudder at the sight of the bun. I see cake, cookies, or donuts and wince… And buttered toast, one of my all-time favorites, makes my stomach drop. I have very little desire to eat anything of that sort. I can eat wheat in small amounts… for instance, a wheat tortilla stuffed with refried beans or hummus gives me no problems whatsoever.
Among other things that haven’t been working so well for me – white sugar, chocolate, caffeine, and soy. A few weeks ago, I ate a chocolate bar I received for my birthday and some bread (before I figured out that the entire bread population was out to get me) – this resulted in lots of shaking and vomiting and just general blegggghhhh. It could have just been the bread, but I don’t think the chocolate helped.
Aside from that, when I eat things that don’t make me sick, I feel quite well. It’s just so strange that the bread sickness came. Coincidentally, when I did a lot of praying and consulting with the Lord on how I could improve my health… One of the few very concrete things I came up with was to avoid bread, although I felt like I should substitute wheat flour for white flour. Crazy. I am beginning to wonder if the wheat flour substitution was counsel given so that I’d discover that wheat isn’t such a good idea.
Random: I think my scripture plant is inseparably connected to my soul in some manner. When I am tired and hurting and sick, the plant wilts. When I am healthy and perky and bright – so is the plant. Just a little bit freaky sometimes. No, really. It freaks me out.
Guys. I finally have a calling. I’m the Enrichment leader in my Relief Society. Although I had a calling in last year’s ward, I never got to do anything with it. I was on the Literacy Committee, whose normal responsibilities include making sure all ward members know how to read. Except this is BYU. Everyone knows how to read, or else is a genius that somehow they’ve gotten by in all their classes without such a skill. So when I’d talk to my Relief Society president to ask what I should be doing in my calling – she’d say, Oh, go talk to so-and-so! And when I’d talk to so-and-so, I’d be referred right back to the Relief Society president. ‘Twas mightily frustrating.
And I love this calling. So. Much. I actually do stuff. And organize things. And plan things, and go to meetings, and ooh! I love it. So. Much.
Well, spring term is almost over. And summer term I get new classes… psychological statistics and some religion classes. I decided to forego taking any dance classes during the summer because I’m going to miss an entire week of school to come visit Arizona in July. So I might see some of my Arizona fans soon. :)
I hope to regularly attend the Social Dance Club on Tuesday nights, and the ward ballroom dance night every Wednesday. So no worries – I’ll still be keeping up with my dancing skills. In fact… maybe if I work really hard, one day I might make it onto team during a spring/summer term so I can declare a minor. (Erm… yes… that would be minor option #4… do I actually plan on having three or four minors? No. So far I only have chemistry in the bag.) However, I do not have the time or effort to try for a fall/winter semester team… not even back-up team. It’d eat up all my time, and it would be take more practice hours than I have to build to skill to even be seriously considered good enough to be on the team. So – spring/summer term team. That’s as much of an aspiration as I’m willing to shoot for at the moment. :)
Anyway, that’s about it for now.
I love you all,
Jenna
Academically, life is splendid. In fact, things are more than splendid. I share the following at my father’s request – I think he just wants to be able to brag, and if I back him up, it must be true.
I’ve been quite sick as of late, which I’ll update you on later, but I’ve been working with my professor to make sure I don’t get too behind. What I figured out is this: there are periods of acute energy and productivity, and there are much longer periods of energylessness and such. I explained this to Dr. Macedone, and after some discussion, he decided that he’d let me work at my own pace on turning in lab reports and homework and such.
That was pretty darned nice of him, so I’ve done my best not to be behind the rest of the class, so he can stay on top of everyone’s grades.
After the first exam, I went to his office to turn in a homework assignment. However, I couldn’t just leave after that. Dr. Macedone is the sort of guy who is genuinely interested in how his students are doing and color coordinates his PowerPoint presentations to match the shirt he happens to be wearing. So we got to talking about how I’m doing.
“How’d the test go for you?” he asked.
“Pretty good, I think.”
“What was your score?”
“67…” The test was scored out of 71 points.
“Hey! Wasn’t that the top score?” he beamed.
“Um… I don’t know?”
Pretty darned excited all of a sudden, my chemistry professor whirled around in his chair to do some tapping at his computer. “Aha! It was! Ooooh, that’s pretty good!” Dr. Macedone sometimes gets ridiculously excited. This was one of those times. He’s also fascinated with grades. In his spare time, he reads the writings of Joseph Smith, plays with lasers, and runs statistical analyses on grade data. I’m not kidding.
In his excited frenzy, my chemistry professor informed me that I’m doing spectacularly well in my chemistry class. In fact, I have the highest grade– I have high scores on all my labs, my quiz and test scores are ridiculously high, and I have a perfect homework score.
Dr. Macedone then continued to rave – and then started to tell me how impressed with me he was. He had expected me to struggle in his class when he found out how sick I was, and he was extremely surprised to find that I was doing as well as I was. He complimented me on my attention to detail, citing numerous impressive discoveries I had made in lab that no one else had noticed. After five straight minutes of heavy praise, he says, “Every once in a while you get students who stand out from all the others… Well, what I meant by all that is, what are your life plans?”
I blinked. “Erm… well, I’m planning on medical school at the moment…”
“Yes! Okay, do you know what this means? Okay. Okay! What I wanted to tell you is that when you need a letter of recommendation, I would be more than happy to write you one. I have all sorts of impressive stories I can tell them that’ll make any medical school want you real bad. Okay?”
“Okay.” I smiled. I need to figure out how to handle excessive praise. I’m still not sure how to react, especially when it comes from someone in authority.
There, Dad. I did your bragging for you. :)
In other news of note – I am single again. Which I have decided is acceptable, despite the occasionally overwhelming longing to be held and having no one to hold you. (I haven’t had this problem for a few months. I suspect though that at some point in the near future I’ll have this problem, worse than I did before I dated Jared.)
Jared and I dated for two months, and Friday night we decided to break it off. I’m okay, really. My side: I was getting extremely frustrated because I’d never see him and then when we’d try to arrange to see each other more often, it never worked out. Ever! Although I didn’t like him any less than I did before, I was really starting to get mightily stressed out about the whole thing. Taking that and several other factors into account, I decided that I’d bring it up on Friday night when I saw him.
Only Friday night came, he showed up – and he was the one who brought it up and suggested we break up. I wasn’t expecting that… he still likes me an awful lot, but he had been thinking about getting more serious. And seeing as neither of us had had a boyfriend or girlfriend before, he didn’t see how we could make a wise decision about that without having dated other people. Not to mention that the relationship was getting ridiculously hard to maintain, and was likely to only get worse. We are both rather busy people, and it seems that we’ll be even busier people in the near future.
So really, it was quite possibly the easiest breakup in the history of the planet, at least that I’ve ever heard of. We both agreed, and after that, it wasn’t awkward. It was just casual. We were just friends again. And if I need a ride to the grocery store, or he needs a buddy to do something with, we’ve still got each other. It’s pretty nice, actually.
The few of my friends who I’ve told about the breakup immediately demand, “Are you okay?” And I just respond calmly, “Completely.” And then they just kind of shake their heads a little in a sort of disbelief. One commented that Jared and I are both too level-headed and logical about everything. I laughed and responded that I do indeed freak out about stuff. The retort to that was that I’m levelheaded even when I’m freaking out. Someone explain that one to me. I don’t understand how you can freak out in a levelheaded manner.
More news! In the health headlines…
Mostly I’m doing quite all right. My immune system is still attacking my life. The most recent immune problem to befall me? I may have developed an allergy to something in bread. When I eat a lot of it, I get sick. One day I ate four slices of bread – but that resulted in vomiting for about an hour and feeling awful the rest of the day. And whenever I much bread, I start feeling a tad sick again. People keep saying, well then, you’re probably gluten-intolerant.
What do I say to that? Well, I suppose that’s possible, but there’s a lot of stuff in bread that could be causing violent illness when I eat it. Yes, the gluten is one suspect, but there’s also the wheat and yeast that could be the culprits. I personally suspect wheat – because my little sister is allergic, and my mom says she has a hard time with it too.
It’s so sad, though. The bread sickness is a recent development – bread has always been my favorite food on the face of the planet. I make ridiculously good homemade bread – and now I don’t have much reason to make it. I made some last Sunday for the sacrament (my ward has something against store-bought bread methinks), and when Brad raved about the excellence of the bread, I told him to take the extras home. No one really believed me when I said I didn’t want it. But I didn’t. Really.
People give you funny looks when you’re at a fast food place, and you really want a hamburger, and you ask for lettuce instead of a hamburger bun.
So… once I find some rice flour, I’ll experiment with that, and if it turns out rice bread makes me sick too... that rules out both wheat and gluten that are making me sick, and probably means it’s the yeast I have a problem with. Meh.
It’s so sad. I love bread. But now, my life is turned upside down. I see a succulent hamburger, and shudder at the sight of the bun. I see cake, cookies, or donuts and wince… And buttered toast, one of my all-time favorites, makes my stomach drop. I have very little desire to eat anything of that sort. I can eat wheat in small amounts… for instance, a wheat tortilla stuffed with refried beans or hummus gives me no problems whatsoever.
Among other things that haven’t been working so well for me – white sugar, chocolate, caffeine, and soy. A few weeks ago, I ate a chocolate bar I received for my birthday and some bread (before I figured out that the entire bread population was out to get me) – this resulted in lots of shaking and vomiting and just general blegggghhhh. It could have just been the bread, but I don’t think the chocolate helped.
Aside from that, when I eat things that don’t make me sick, I feel quite well. It’s just so strange that the bread sickness came. Coincidentally, when I did a lot of praying and consulting with the Lord on how I could improve my health… One of the few very concrete things I came up with was to avoid bread, although I felt like I should substitute wheat flour for white flour. Crazy. I am beginning to wonder if the wheat flour substitution was counsel given so that I’d discover that wheat isn’t such a good idea.
Random: I think my scripture plant is inseparably connected to my soul in some manner. When I am tired and hurting and sick, the plant wilts. When I am healthy and perky and bright – so is the plant. Just a little bit freaky sometimes. No, really. It freaks me out.
Guys. I finally have a calling. I’m the Enrichment leader in my Relief Society. Although I had a calling in last year’s ward, I never got to do anything with it. I was on the Literacy Committee, whose normal responsibilities include making sure all ward members know how to read. Except this is BYU. Everyone knows how to read, or else is a genius that somehow they’ve gotten by in all their classes without such a skill. So when I’d talk to my Relief Society president to ask what I should be doing in my calling – she’d say, Oh, go talk to so-and-so! And when I’d talk to so-and-so, I’d be referred right back to the Relief Society president. ‘Twas mightily frustrating.
And I love this calling. So. Much. I actually do stuff. And organize things. And plan things, and go to meetings, and ooh! I love it. So. Much.
Well, spring term is almost over. And summer term I get new classes… psychological statistics and some religion classes. I decided to forego taking any dance classes during the summer because I’m going to miss an entire week of school to come visit Arizona in July. So I might see some of my Arizona fans soon. :)
I hope to regularly attend the Social Dance Club on Tuesday nights, and the ward ballroom dance night every Wednesday. So no worries – I’ll still be keeping up with my dancing skills. In fact… maybe if I work really hard, one day I might make it onto team during a spring/summer term so I can declare a minor. (Erm… yes… that would be minor option #4… do I actually plan on having three or four minors? No. So far I only have chemistry in the bag.) However, I do not have the time or effort to try for a fall/winter semester team… not even back-up team. It’d eat up all my time, and it would be take more practice hours than I have to build to skill to even be seriously considered good enough to be on the team. So – spring/summer term team. That’s as much of an aspiration as I’m willing to shoot for at the moment. :)
Anyway, that’s about it for now.
I love you all,
Jenna
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
It Has Indeed Been A Looooooong Time...
I hardly know where to begin. It’s been nearly two months (possibly longer?) since I last shot off a newsletter.
Well, academic news first. I am in school, so that’s naturally first priority. Last Fall semester – straight As, except for neuroanatomy. Considering how sick I was, consider that a miracle.
This Spring term – yes, I am going to school. I am enjoying myself immensely. I’m taking Dance 280… for the third time. I decided I needed to force myself to stay active. Unfortunately, the ONLY dance class I could feasibly get into was 280. Splendid… Well, to be optimistic, this gives me yet another chance to get my Silver American medal, compete triple swing in DanceSport (this would be in August), master the steps and technique taught at this level, and maybe even get an A. I haven’t actually done any of those things before… so… Whoo!
I am also taking Pearl of Great Price, which has proved to be spiritually uplifting, intellectually stimulating, and even relatively homework free. In fact, I don’t there’s been any homework so far (except for studying for a midterm which was incredibly easy). The only homework there will be, in fact, is a six-page research paper due near the end of the term written on any subject we choose so long as we relate it to the Pearl of Great Price somehow. My professor encouraged us to consider writing our paper on Battlestar Galactica. …Which I just might do, by the way. [To any BYU students who may receive this: I’d recommend this class if you need two easy credits to bump you up to full-time that won’t add much to your workload.]
But, most exciting! I’m taking a four-credit chemistry class! I fully expected this class to be an absolute beast of a nightmare; however, I have found it to be quite the opposite, despite the fact that I spend sixteen hours in this class a week, and at least another six doing homework for it. This is the analytical chemistry class for chemistry minors. And what is analytical chemistry, you ask? This the field responsible for figuring out if the information on food labels is actually correct, and also for figuring out what that mystery compound is at crime scenes. So far, I’ve figured out exactly how much Vitamin C is in a Vitamin C tablet, how much iron is in an iron tablet, how much liquid my 50-mL buret actually delivers, and what the concentration of a bunch of mystery acid and base compounds is so we don’t accidentally kill ourselves in lab. I am currently working on discovered exactly how much calcium and magnesium there is in mineral water. And among the other exciting stuff I get to work on soon? Figuring out exactly how much caffeine is actually in that soda pop. Exciting, yes? I certainly thought so! My professor is absolutely AMAZING. [To any BYU chemistry students out there, I highly recommend Dr. Macedone. He’s pretty much awesome. He’s possibly as good as Dr. Brown (my neuroanatomy professor).] Oh, sigh of euphoria! Maybe I should have majored in chemistry? Except neuroscience is also pretty cool…
I’ve also moved since I last sent out a newsletter. I now enjoy six times as much closet, a quarter as many roommates, and a whole lot more peace and quiet. Also a more consistently empty mailbox, but that’s okay because on the occasion that there is something in there, it is something spectacular, namely a letter for me! (In the past few days, I got eight letters from little brother Cliftonius, written in a spread of four and a half months in reply to letters I don’t remember writing. Strangely, they came all at once. Holy Mackerel! Needless to say, I felt rather special.)
Although I only moved fifty steps away from where I used to live, I am now in a new ward. And may I just say – I LOVE this ward. I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT, I LOVE IT. I feel as at home here in the 11th Ward as I did in the 68th Ward, and that’s actually saying QUITE a bit. Especially since I was a little wary about moving here. See, there’s this fishbowl thing… There are two buildings in the ward. An enormous white brick building full to the brim with single men in it that directly faces an enormous white brick building full of single women. Add remarkably thin walls, balconies that face each other, and you’ve got a textbook fishbowl. Everyone knows what’s up with everybody.
Somehow, the fishbowl situation isn’t so bad because: 1) the girls are wonderful; 2) the men are wonderful; 3) a smaller percentage of the men in this ward are creepers in comparison to the men in last year’s ward; 4) although equal in good-looking-ness, I think the men might actually smell better here…; 5) the ward has a ballroom dancing activity every Wednesday night; 6) one of the guys is an amazing pianist, and when he plays everyone can inevitably hear it; 7) we actually have church in a real, live church building; 8) church is at 8:30 am so after church we actually have SUNDAY!; 9) I’m close enough to everyone from last year’s ward that I still see them all the time; 10) the ward was organized quickly; 11) the ward directory is probably the coolest thing I’ve seen in my life; 12) the ward choir is absolutely spectacular due to a large number of musically gifted men, 13) a few of the guys have cool accents – two are British; and 14) we’re right next to the pool. I love this place.
Somehow, I suddenly and mysteriously got ridiculously gorgeous. I’m not saying I wasn’t pretty before, but if we’re going to be honest… I got better looking. Weird. Unfortunately, some time in the past few months, I’ve suddenly and mysteriously learned how to flirt (who knew, but I’m actually good at it… ?!?!?!) and I don’t know how not to do it when I probably shouldn’t. Like when I’m dating someone. Which I am.
Speaking of Jared – I don’t actually see him very often ever since we moved out of the same ward. It’s nice that he’s not clingy and I’m not clingy, but at the same time… I see him, on average, about two hours a week. (Um, I easily spend more time than that with the guys in my ward, just because they’re there.) Although I’m a busy girl, he’s busier than I am. Plus, he’s moved far, far away… all the way to Arcadia. That’s like… a twenty minute walk from here. Lame! Although it’s a three-day weekend in a few days… perhaps I may see a tad more of him them. Who knows.
And speaking of the weekend, I turn twenty on Sunday. Weird. How many of you remember when I became a Beehive? Ahh!!! I’m not a teenager anymore!
Hm. Oh yeah, my health situation. That’s pretty important.
Um… I’ve got some autoimmune problems going on. And last week I went to the ER. Not to make light on that or anything, but I’d encourage you all to not worry about that. Like… at all. Just forget I even said anything of that nature.
Suddenly and mysteriously, as of last Tuesday, I feel much better. And not just that, but I actually feel rested after half a night’s sleep. This has not been the case... since ever. My skin and hair are softer and healthier than they’ve been in my entire life. No, really, this is not an exaggeration. It’s ridiculous. I keep having to touch my face to assure myself it’s real. And my lips aren’t chapped. Maybe to you that may not seem like a big deal, but it certainly is to me. My lips have been chapped as long as I can remember, despite obsessive-compulsive chapstick application. One of the few things I remember when I went in to the hospital for back surgery, the nurses kept telling me my lips were chapped and they’d try to fix it. They couldn’t. So the fact that my lips have been happy and healthy feeling for a week – means something to me.
People keep telling me I look healthier too. All of symptoms are… fading fast. I’m not completely sure how to react to that except with astonishment and utter gratitude. Ay caramba.
That’s all for the time being. Love, love.
Jenna.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Of All the Little Things
I have noticed lately many, many teeny little things that make me happy. There are big things too, of course, but today I'll mix things up a bit and take grand notice of the little things.
I have a scripture plant. It is exactly what it sounds like -- I got a pot full of dirt and put seeds in it. And it sits precariously on our windowsill demanding to be watered. This serves to remind me to read my scriptures, and it is quite powerfully changing my life because I may only water the plant when I do remember to read. The command of the Lord to Jenna was simply this: "Don't kill it." I have taken this stern command to heart, and the pot full of sprouting little plants has grown to be quite tall. I named it Theodore, which means 'gift of God', because it was His idea in the first place.
I mention this little plant for many reasons, one of which is the pure joy that fills my soul whenever I see it. Everyday for at least a few minutes, I stand over it and coo sweet nothings to it. And I stroke its many little leaves lovingly. I think once I kissed it, because I was so excited to see it when I came home. And do you know what? I think that little plant and I are forming a bond. It could be because I do stroke it lovingly, perhaps. I do bond through hugs, and that's as close as I can get to hugging it. It could be because I tell it nice things, perhaps. Who doesn't like to be complimented on how beautifully patterned your leaves are, and how much taller you are today than you were yesterday, and how vividly green your foliage is? It could be because we spend quality time together, perhaps. It could be because I give it meaningful service by watering it so often, perhaps. We shall never know the means by which this bond was forged, but there indeed exists a mental and spiritual connection between Theo and I.
It also indirectly brings me joy through the scripture reading I have done because of it. Shannon and I read our scriptures together every night (or try to) so we can both be more consistent, and the blessings are too wonderful and numerous to describe.
I have also recently come to deeply appreciate Top Ramen. Every college student has their own method of preparing the ultra-cheap noodles, but I think I may have the best way. I don't like it plain, but it is rather divine when you add a bunch of random things to it. I like onions and celery and carrots chopped up really tiny (with a ridiculously large knife, of course), and little bits of meat in it (meat that matches the salt packet flavor, of course. But by far my favoritest thing about Jenna's divine Ramen concoction is the egg. Just before I take my Ramen noodly soup off the stove, I scramble a single egg and then pour it into the hot bubbling goodness egg-drop style. And then I stir violently, let it sit on the stove for just a moment longer, and then I'll take it off. Who knew Ramen could taste so exquisite?
Lately, I have come to appreciate functioning thyroids. As you all may know, my thyoid is lazy and isn't doing its job. And so my metabolism is a little messed up. O, wo is me. I also really appreciate doctors who are aware that their patients aren't made of money and try to prescribe cheap medications rather than expensive ones, and advising you where you can go to get work done where your insurance will pay for it, instead of sending you next door where they'll charge you an arm and a leg to do the same thing.
Yesterday, I bought ballroom shoes. This was an epic experience. Rachel drove me over to the little Dance Works store and I walked in to a marvellous bazaar of dance things. I was lost in a teeny little store. I found a worker. "Hi, I'm looking for ballroom shoes. Latin ones, preferably."
The worker guided me to the patch on the wall covered in ballroom shoes and the search was on. I asked for the cheapest brand of shoe. "What size do you normally wear?" "Erm... about a size 7?"
There were no sevens. The seven and a half was woefully too big... as was the six and a half. We tried a six. Still too big.
So she kept bringing out smaller and smaller sizes... the thing about ballroom shoes is that they have to be snug on your feet... and they want them to be tight, especially when you first buy them. Apparently they strech a quarter inch after you dance in them for a while.
She finally brought out a size 5. I marvelled at the sheer tinyness of these shoes. And I looked back and forth between my feet and the teeny shoes. My foot... in that. So I know for a girl of my height, my feet are disproportionately tiny. But I don't know so much about wearing -- and fitting in -- a size 5.
To my surprise, however, my feet did indeed fit inside that tiny pair of shoes. And-- I found a tiny little square meter of hardwood floor and danced on it by myself (as best as I could with no space) and found them extremely satisfying. I think this pair of shoes will improve my dancing. Tenfold.
No more feet sliding around in slightly too big Sunday shoes. Now I can actually bend my foot and actually feel the floor... and glide over it, and... and oooooohhh, it feels goooood.
Guys -- I might actually get an A in a ballroom dance class. For the first time in my life. The anticipation of the last dance is kiling me now with my fancy little fairy-feet shoes. And speaking of good grades... I haven't botched my chances for As in any of my classes expect for one. I botched my chance for an A in neuroanatomy today when I got a 70% on the test. Which brings my 90% exam average all the way down to an 80%. I don't feel all that disappointed though. Yes, that means I got 30% of the questions wrong, but I DID get the rest of them right. That's more than I deserved.
I am grateful for merciful professors. My professor was merciful upon me and allowed me to take the exam late because I had been so extremely sick last week. I fully expected to receive a big fat zero because I didn't go take it when everyone else did, and since the syllabus very clearly states that there will be absolutely no make-up exams. I am fairly certain that even with almost an entire week's extra time I was at no advantage over the other students, because I still haven't been feeling too good, and I have seen a noticable decrease in my capacity to remember information during the time in which I've been sick. I think I might actually be proud of that 70%... you know, I think I am.
I especially have an appreciation for free school... especially because from out of nowhere (seemingly from above) I have received a full tuition scholarship for spring and summer terms. O glorious day. I will now not have to suffer through four entire months of schoollessness. I really still love school, even through the muck of exams and homework...
There goes a story in my family that when I was small, I really, really loved school. I am not quite clear on the details, but on a day when there was no school, I got ready to go and got really upset when no one would take me to school. My parents and my aunt kept telling me that there was no school that day, and that if I went to school, no one would be there. But I was so distraught that my aunt finally drove me past the school just to prove to me that no one was there. Indeed... no cars in the parking lot, no children on the playground, no school... That was an awful day.
I am grateful for mail. I received a letter from little brother Clifton yesterday and it brought unspeakable joy to my heart.
I love sunshine.
I love Sundays.
I love hugs.
I am pretty much fond of the state of my life in general. Everything seems to be going my way, with the obvious exception of my health and cognition and very little mail, but really, that's not all that much. Oh, and my iPod is broken. It still plays music, but not the music I want it to. And my closet is a little small. And my neuroanatomy grade is wilting. Plus, I unfortunately have to climb an intimidating flight of stairs everyday.
But really, life's okay.
Love, Jenna
I have a scripture plant. It is exactly what it sounds like -- I got a pot full of dirt and put seeds in it. And it sits precariously on our windowsill demanding to be watered. This serves to remind me to read my scriptures, and it is quite powerfully changing my life because I may only water the plant when I do remember to read. The command of the Lord to Jenna was simply this: "Don't kill it." I have taken this stern command to heart, and the pot full of sprouting little plants has grown to be quite tall. I named it Theodore, which means 'gift of God', because it was His idea in the first place.
I mention this little plant for many reasons, one of which is the pure joy that fills my soul whenever I see it. Everyday for at least a few minutes, I stand over it and coo sweet nothings to it. And I stroke its many little leaves lovingly. I think once I kissed it, because I was so excited to see it when I came home. And do you know what? I think that little plant and I are forming a bond. It could be because I do stroke it lovingly, perhaps. I do bond through hugs, and that's as close as I can get to hugging it. It could be because I tell it nice things, perhaps. Who doesn't like to be complimented on how beautifully patterned your leaves are, and how much taller you are today than you were yesterday, and how vividly green your foliage is? It could be because we spend quality time together, perhaps. It could be because I give it meaningful service by watering it so often, perhaps. We shall never know the means by which this bond was forged, but there indeed exists a mental and spiritual connection between Theo and I.
It also indirectly brings me joy through the scripture reading I have done because of it. Shannon and I read our scriptures together every night (or try to) so we can both be more consistent, and the blessings are too wonderful and numerous to describe.
I have also recently come to deeply appreciate Top Ramen. Every college student has their own method of preparing the ultra-cheap noodles, but I think I may have the best way. I don't like it plain, but it is rather divine when you add a bunch of random things to it. I like onions and celery and carrots chopped up really tiny (with a ridiculously large knife, of course), and little bits of meat in it (meat that matches the salt packet flavor, of course. But by far my favoritest thing about Jenna's divine Ramen concoction is the egg. Just before I take my Ramen noodly soup off the stove, I scramble a single egg and then pour it into the hot bubbling goodness egg-drop style. And then I stir violently, let it sit on the stove for just a moment longer, and then I'll take it off. Who knew Ramen could taste so exquisite?
Lately, I have come to appreciate functioning thyroids. As you all may know, my thyoid is lazy and isn't doing its job. And so my metabolism is a little messed up. O, wo is me. I also really appreciate doctors who are aware that their patients aren't made of money and try to prescribe cheap medications rather than expensive ones, and advising you where you can go to get work done where your insurance will pay for it, instead of sending you next door where they'll charge you an arm and a leg to do the same thing.
Yesterday, I bought ballroom shoes. This was an epic experience. Rachel drove me over to the little Dance Works store and I walked in to a marvellous bazaar of dance things. I was lost in a teeny little store. I found a worker. "Hi, I'm looking for ballroom shoes. Latin ones, preferably."
The worker guided me to the patch on the wall covered in ballroom shoes and the search was on. I asked for the cheapest brand of shoe. "What size do you normally wear?" "Erm... about a size 7?"
There were no sevens. The seven and a half was woefully too big... as was the six and a half. We tried a six. Still too big.
So she kept bringing out smaller and smaller sizes... the thing about ballroom shoes is that they have to be snug on your feet... and they want them to be tight, especially when you first buy them. Apparently they strech a quarter inch after you dance in them for a while.
She finally brought out a size 5. I marvelled at the sheer tinyness of these shoes. And I looked back and forth between my feet and the teeny shoes. My foot... in that. So I know for a girl of my height, my feet are disproportionately tiny. But I don't know so much about wearing -- and fitting in -- a size 5.
To my surprise, however, my feet did indeed fit inside that tiny pair of shoes. And-- I found a tiny little square meter of hardwood floor and danced on it by myself (as best as I could with no space) and found them extremely satisfying. I think this pair of shoes will improve my dancing. Tenfold.
No more feet sliding around in slightly too big Sunday shoes. Now I can actually bend my foot and actually feel the floor... and glide over it, and... and oooooohhh, it feels goooood.
Guys -- I might actually get an A in a ballroom dance class. For the first time in my life. The anticipation of the last dance is kiling me now with my fancy little fairy-feet shoes. And speaking of good grades... I haven't botched my chances for As in any of my classes expect for one. I botched my chance for an A in neuroanatomy today when I got a 70% on the test. Which brings my 90% exam average all the way down to an 80%. I don't feel all that disappointed though. Yes, that means I got 30% of the questions wrong, but I DID get the rest of them right. That's more than I deserved.
I am grateful for merciful professors. My professor was merciful upon me and allowed me to take the exam late because I had been so extremely sick last week. I fully expected to receive a big fat zero because I didn't go take it when everyone else did, and since the syllabus very clearly states that there will be absolutely no make-up exams. I am fairly certain that even with almost an entire week's extra time I was at no advantage over the other students, because I still haven't been feeling too good, and I have seen a noticable decrease in my capacity to remember information during the time in which I've been sick. I think I might actually be proud of that 70%... you know, I think I am.
I especially have an appreciation for free school... especially because from out of nowhere (seemingly from above) I have received a full tuition scholarship for spring and summer terms. O glorious day. I will now not have to suffer through four entire months of schoollessness. I really still love school, even through the muck of exams and homework...
There goes a story in my family that when I was small, I really, really loved school. I am not quite clear on the details, but on a day when there was no school, I got ready to go and got really upset when no one would take me to school. My parents and my aunt kept telling me that there was no school that day, and that if I went to school, no one would be there. But I was so distraught that my aunt finally drove me past the school just to prove to me that no one was there. Indeed... no cars in the parking lot, no children on the playground, no school... That was an awful day.
I am grateful for mail. I received a letter from little brother Clifton yesterday and it brought unspeakable joy to my heart.
I love sunshine.
I love Sundays.
I love hugs.
I am pretty much fond of the state of my life in general. Everything seems to be going my way, with the obvious exception of my health and cognition and very little mail, but really, that's not all that much. Oh, and my iPod is broken. It still plays music, but not the music I want it to. And my closet is a little small. And my neuroanatomy grade is wilting. Plus, I unfortunately have to climb an intimidating flight of stairs everyday.
But really, life's okay.
Love, Jenna
Monday, April 6, 2009
Surprise! (To Fulfill Demands For Further Information)
Last Friday I dragged myself out of bed, and ran to my neurobiology class to turn in a paper. I kind of dozed through the rest due to extreme fatigue. Afterwards, I ran home, fixed myself up, and went to a molecular biology review, and ran to the Student Health Center. My doctor, Lorraine, printed out a copy of my bloodwork results for me so I could see, and we went through them together.
Well, guys, guess what? Apparently, I have high cholesterol. This is unusual since I'm 19, skinny, and I eat healthy. We shrugged that one off though and attributed it to genetics. But guess what else? There is probably something going on with my thyroid. I know what a few of you want to ask... does this mean hypo- or hyperthyroidism? Hypothyroidism is most likely because we think my thyroid is underactive. Stupid lazy thyroid. We deduced this because the TSH levels in my blood were EXTREMELY high. Which we think means that:
1. My thyroid isn't doing its job, or in other words, isn't producing enough triiodothyronine (T3) and thyroxine (T4) like it should be. T3 and T4 regulate metabolism and energy and such. If there's not enough of it, I'll always be fatigued and lethargic, quite intolerant of cold, depressed, not able to remember things as clearly, dry skin, etc. Whoo. That's exactly my problem.
2. Sensory neurons in the hypothalamus in my brain detect that there isn't enough T3 or T4 in my bloodstream.
3. So my hypothalamus sends a signal to my pituitary gland to release more thyroid stimulating hormone (TSH).
4. TSH is supposed to stimulate my thyroid to produce T3 and T4, but since it isn't, the vicious cycle continues.
That is our theory. The primary symptoms we'd see if we're right is extreme fatigue and weakness and a few others. Hey... that sounds dreadfully familiar! So I think we're right. If we're wrong about that then I suppose something could possibly be wrong with my pituitary gland... I'd prefer that something is wrong with my thyroid. Obviously a tumor on my pituitary gland would... suck.
After finals I'm going to visit an endocrinologist and they'll perform more tests and we'll see what's going on. If my doctor and I are right? Then I'll probably have to end up taking thyroid hormone. Whoohoo. Possibly for just a few months, or possibly for the rest of my life. Wonderful, eh?
I suppose most people might come out of the doctor's office a little bummed to find something wrong like that, but I instead felt... relief. I have a little better idea about what is going on with my life. This, I like.
I get home to find my teeny little apartment a veritable mess (Really? This was clean last night!). Well, crap. I have a date coming over at four. Plus it should be cleaned because it's nasty. So I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until it was 4pm and Jared showed up. He helped me finish the dishes, and then we went into our living room to watch the end of the movie we started last week on our date.
I noticed that although last time he sat a good foot away from me on the couch, this time he sat right up close to me. I allowed this and leaned into it, although I was still kind of cold and kept my arms folded. About twenty minutes into the movie though, I heard a big sigh from Jared. He said in my ear, "Jenna, you know, with your arms folded like that, I can't hold your hand." It was a good thing we were cuddling so he couldn't see me turning red. "Oh, sorry!" And I gave him my hand. And we held hands.
No, I wasn't expecting that. I might need to reevaluate what I know about Jared. Quiet, yes. Shy, not as much as I thought he was. Bold... erm, actually, yes. He just might be.
We finished the movie, and then looked through recipes until we decided what we wanted for dinner. He decided on shepherd's pie for dinner, and I decided on peach cobbler for dessert. We walked a few blocks to where his car was parked, holding hands, and went shopping for the ingredients we didn't already have. Then we came home, and held hands some more, and made dinner and dessert, and talked, and ate, completely cleaned up after ourselves, and after about four hours I told him I was really tired and needed to go to bed. He gave me a good hug and left, but not before I made sure he wanted to do something next Saturday. Which he did.
Saturday? Conference. I watched it on my computer in my pajamas with my hair all unkempt and such, because I only had the willpower to get out of bed just before it started. What I was not expecting was for Jared to show up immediately after the morning session to say hello.
Shannon was rubbing my shoulder when I heard a knock on our door and Shannon said abruptly, "Guess who I just saw walk by our window?"
"Jared?"
It was indeed. He walked in and I blinked in surprise.
"Jared! I'm... in my pajamas!" I said cheerfully.
He laughed. I got up and gave him a big hug. Who freaking cares if it's noon and I still look like I did when I rolled out of bed? I'm still gorgeous. Bahahaaa!
His excuse for coming was to get more peach cobbler. Although I had made A LOT, there was only a small bowlful left. I let him have it. He was shocked to find that although the two of us had completely cleaned the kitchen just last night, both sinks were now overflowing with dishes and the kitchen looked nasty again. Ridiculous, isn't it? He left shortly, because I admittedly was just about to get in the shower when he showed up... and I still needed to do so.
After watching the afternoon conference, I thought for a moment. The next scheduled time to see Jared is... Monday, at FHE (we recently and conveniently combined FHE groups). And today is Saturday.
...
Unacceptable.
Soooo... I pull out my phone, call him, and ask if he wants to go watch conference at the Manavu Chapel with me tomorrow. As expected, he accepts with a barely contained hint of glee in his voice. Yessssssss.
Well, Sunday comes, and this time I'm not in my pajamas, but in Sunday dress. He comes to pick me up, and we walk over together holding hands. We watch it and cuddle. During the closing song, he put his arm around me and I leaned in right where I could hear his heartbeat. A secret... I love looking at people's eyes, I love playing with people's hands, and I love listening to people's heartbeats. I like his heartbeat.
Sunday morning session ended and we exited the chapel... but Jared said, "Let's go on a walk first." Okay... we talk about random things for a while, but he seems to know EXACTLY where he wants to take me. I let him lead, but I have no idea where we are going. Finally though, we get up onto the lonely little red brick path on Maeser Hill. I think this was his destination, because he finally stopped asking/saying random things and said, "Jenna, I've never had a girlfriend before..."
I know exactly where he wants to go with this. "Well, I've never had a boyfriend." I paused just long enough to prevent an awkward pause. "So... you wanna date?"
"Yes," he said.
"Okay," I replied. "Let's do it."
Well I suppose that was the purpose of the whole walk and the red brick path, because he wheeled us around and we started to head for home. We didn't say much for a minute. And then he abruptly said, "So... I've never been kissed before either..."
I blinked. "... ... Me neither."
He turned to me. "Would you like to say we have?"
I thought: Ahhh! I just had my first hand-holding experience two days ago! And I've only been your girlfriend for approximately ninety seconds! You want a kiss? Already? Not that I'd mind, but isn't that a little bit fast-paced? Yikes, you're braver and bolder than I thought you were...
But my gut reaction was: Heck yes, I want to kiss you. So what actually come out of my mouth was, "Yeah." So we kissed once. And then decided we needed to try again. And then we walked home.
We got to my doorstep only to find Rachel making faces at us in the window, so I gave him a goodbye hug. I shut the door behind me, and Rachel shook her head disappointedly at me. "You should've smooched 'im."
I glared playfully. "I did. Twice."
[Insert chaos amongst roommates here, and me being forced to tell the story about twenty times until everyone has heard it.]
Jared and I went to the last session of conference, and cuddled a bit, and then he walked me home. I gave him a hug, a kiss, and a hug, and went inside. By that time I was so tired that I just kind of collapsed into bed.
The end thus far.
Love, Jenna.
Well, guys, guess what? Apparently, I have high cholesterol. This is unusual since I'm 19, skinny, and I eat healthy. We shrugged that one off though and attributed it to genetics. But guess what else? There is probably something going on with my thyroid. I know what a few of you want to ask... does this mean hypo- or hyperthyroidism? Hypothyroidism is most likely because we think my thyroid is underactive. Stupid lazy thyroid. We deduced this because the TSH levels in my blood were EXTREMELY high. Which we think means that:
1. My thyroid isn't doing its job, or in other words, isn't producing enough triiodothyronine (T3) and thyroxine (T4) like it should be. T3 and T4 regulate metabolism and energy and such. If there's not enough of it, I'll always be fatigued and lethargic, quite intolerant of cold, depressed, not able to remember things as clearly, dry skin, etc. Whoo. That's exactly my problem.
2. Sensory neurons in the hypothalamus in my brain detect that there isn't enough T3 or T4 in my bloodstream.
3. So my hypothalamus sends a signal to my pituitary gland to release more thyroid stimulating hormone (TSH).
4. TSH is supposed to stimulate my thyroid to produce T3 and T4, but since it isn't, the vicious cycle continues.
That is our theory. The primary symptoms we'd see if we're right is extreme fatigue and weakness and a few others. Hey... that sounds dreadfully familiar! So I think we're right. If we're wrong about that then I suppose something could possibly be wrong with my pituitary gland... I'd prefer that something is wrong with my thyroid. Obviously a tumor on my pituitary gland would... suck.
After finals I'm going to visit an endocrinologist and they'll perform more tests and we'll see what's going on. If my doctor and I are right? Then I'll probably have to end up taking thyroid hormone. Whoohoo. Possibly for just a few months, or possibly for the rest of my life. Wonderful, eh?
I suppose most people might come out of the doctor's office a little bummed to find something wrong like that, but I instead felt... relief. I have a little better idea about what is going on with my life. This, I like.
I get home to find my teeny little apartment a veritable mess (Really? This was clean last night!). Well, crap. I have a date coming over at four. Plus it should be cleaned because it's nasty. So I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until it was 4pm and Jared showed up. He helped me finish the dishes, and then we went into our living room to watch the end of the movie we started last week on our date.
I noticed that although last time he sat a good foot away from me on the couch, this time he sat right up close to me. I allowed this and leaned into it, although I was still kind of cold and kept my arms folded. About twenty minutes into the movie though, I heard a big sigh from Jared. He said in my ear, "Jenna, you know, with your arms folded like that, I can't hold your hand." It was a good thing we were cuddling so he couldn't see me turning red. "Oh, sorry!" And I gave him my hand. And we held hands.
No, I wasn't expecting that. I might need to reevaluate what I know about Jared. Quiet, yes. Shy, not as much as I thought he was. Bold... erm, actually, yes. He just might be.
We finished the movie, and then looked through recipes until we decided what we wanted for dinner. He decided on shepherd's pie for dinner, and I decided on peach cobbler for dessert. We walked a few blocks to where his car was parked, holding hands, and went shopping for the ingredients we didn't already have. Then we came home, and held hands some more, and made dinner and dessert, and talked, and ate, completely cleaned up after ourselves, and after about four hours I told him I was really tired and needed to go to bed. He gave me a good hug and left, but not before I made sure he wanted to do something next Saturday. Which he did.
Saturday? Conference. I watched it on my computer in my pajamas with my hair all unkempt and such, because I only had the willpower to get out of bed just before it started. What I was not expecting was for Jared to show up immediately after the morning session to say hello.
Shannon was rubbing my shoulder when I heard a knock on our door and Shannon said abruptly, "Guess who I just saw walk by our window?"
"Jared?"
It was indeed. He walked in and I blinked in surprise.
"Jared! I'm... in my pajamas!" I said cheerfully.
He laughed. I got up and gave him a big hug. Who freaking cares if it's noon and I still look like I did when I rolled out of bed? I'm still gorgeous. Bahahaaa!
His excuse for coming was to get more peach cobbler. Although I had made A LOT, there was only a small bowlful left. I let him have it. He was shocked to find that although the two of us had completely cleaned the kitchen just last night, both sinks were now overflowing with dishes and the kitchen looked nasty again. Ridiculous, isn't it? He left shortly, because I admittedly was just about to get in the shower when he showed up... and I still needed to do so.
After watching the afternoon conference, I thought for a moment. The next scheduled time to see Jared is... Monday, at FHE (we recently and conveniently combined FHE groups). And today is Saturday.
...
Unacceptable.
Soooo... I pull out my phone, call him, and ask if he wants to go watch conference at the Manavu Chapel with me tomorrow. As expected, he accepts with a barely contained hint of glee in his voice. Yessssssss.
Well, Sunday comes, and this time I'm not in my pajamas, but in Sunday dress. He comes to pick me up, and we walk over together holding hands. We watch it and cuddle. During the closing song, he put his arm around me and I leaned in right where I could hear his heartbeat. A secret... I love looking at people's eyes, I love playing with people's hands, and I love listening to people's heartbeats. I like his heartbeat.
Sunday morning session ended and we exited the chapel... but Jared said, "Let's go on a walk first." Okay... we talk about random things for a while, but he seems to know EXACTLY where he wants to take me. I let him lead, but I have no idea where we are going. Finally though, we get up onto the lonely little red brick path on Maeser Hill. I think this was his destination, because he finally stopped asking/saying random things and said, "Jenna, I've never had a girlfriend before..."
I know exactly where he wants to go with this. "Well, I've never had a boyfriend." I paused just long enough to prevent an awkward pause. "So... you wanna date?"
"Yes," he said.
"Okay," I replied. "Let's do it."
Well I suppose that was the purpose of the whole walk and the red brick path, because he wheeled us around and we started to head for home. We didn't say much for a minute. And then he abruptly said, "So... I've never been kissed before either..."
I blinked. "... ... Me neither."
He turned to me. "Would you like to say we have?"
I thought: Ahhh! I just had my first hand-holding experience two days ago! And I've only been your girlfriend for approximately ninety seconds! You want a kiss? Already? Not that I'd mind, but isn't that a little bit fast-paced? Yikes, you're braver and bolder than I thought you were...
But my gut reaction was: Heck yes, I want to kiss you. So what actually come out of my mouth was, "Yeah." So we kissed once. And then decided we needed to try again. And then we walked home.
We got to my doorstep only to find Rachel making faces at us in the window, so I gave him a goodbye hug. I shut the door behind me, and Rachel shook her head disappointedly at me. "You should've smooched 'im."
I glared playfully. "I did. Twice."
[Insert chaos amongst roommates here, and me being forced to tell the story about twenty times until everyone has heard it.]
Jared and I went to the last session of conference, and cuddled a bit, and then he walked me home. I gave him a hug, a kiss, and a hug, and went inside. By that time I was so tired that I just kind of collapsed into bed.
The end thus far.
Love, Jenna.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Pursuit.
Well, it's been a while since I sent an email to y'all. And... that's merely because I've been quite busy. School is a beast. But I'm doing all right. Actually, what I have to talk about is my social life. In particular, my social life with the boys. That's honestly the only interesting happenings lately. It seems there has been a sudden spike in dates. Ahhh!
Of note, I brutally rejected John. Sad day for him. He was the one who: I met on a blind date on Valentine's day, randomly showed up at my door when I really didn't want to see him, asked me on a date to dinner at his place, I refused (I don't trust him) but decided instead to take him to the humongous roommate group date where there would be plenty of people at which he insisted to make the hamburger buns himself from scratch (they were actually quite good), volunteered to fix my computer, and actually did fix my computer. I think that's where I left you guys hanging last.
Nice guy. Except I kind of couldn't stand spending time with him for more than small time intervals. He was a tad annoying. Well, the day after the big group date, I receive a text from John. "Would you like to come to dinner tonight?" No, I wouldn't like to come to dinner with you. Ever. Plus, I'm home sick from church feeling miserable. I text back "No thanks, I'm not interested." I thought that was polite. But apparently I wasn't direct enough. "Oh, are you still sick?" comes the response. I text back, "Yes, indeed." Then: "So would you be interested in dinner some other time?" Blegh. I repeat, "No thanks, I'm not interested." No response, so I figured he finally got the message. Except that twenty-four hours later, I receive a slightly bitter text: "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Sorry to disappoint you." I didn't respond... I figured that getting a text like, "Oh, I'm not disappointed, I never had my hopes up in the first place" would be a bit brutal.
Okay, so the other guy I mentioned from last time -- Jared. As a refresher:
Jared is probably the quietest, shyest guy I've met in my entire life. I remember I had a brief conversation with him at a ward prayer back in January. In late February, I finally realize... he keeps following me around at ward events trying to talk to me. Except that's a difficult task, since I'm kind of like an excited little puppy bouncing around trying to say hello to everyone and give them all hugs, etc.
After this realization, I stop the puppy-act and stop and just talk to him for a while. It seemed like he was struggling to make conversation, like he didn't know what to say, but I find out that he works at Teriyaki Stix, and exactly when he works, and that in two weeks he won't be working there anymore. I told him I'd go visit him.
So I'd better get a move on. One Tuesday at lunchtime I dash over to the Cougareat and head straight for Teriyaki Stix. I see Jared at the register, looking a little down. I walk up, and when he sees me, it was like sunshine just filled his soul. He perked up and was visibly happy to see me. "I told you I'd come visit you," I said. He just kind of smiled and stuttered. Aha! Suspicion confirmed. The shy guy likes me.
As I am waiting for my food, he suddenly pipes up. "Jenna! I'll call you tonight!"
I smile. "Okay, I'd like that." And then my food is ready, and I leave.
He did call, and that resulted in a date to the Hunger Banquet that Friday. He bought me a rose. Afterwards we played Boggle.
At some point he gathered enough courage to call me again. So we went on a date to Divine Comedy. It was kind of funny though -- he had already asked all the questions he had asked last time. And I could almost see him beating himself up every time he realized he'd already asked that question. So I started to take over the conversation and ask new questions. After the show was over, he took me home. And I just have to say -- the hug at the end was goooood.
So on Sunday, I find him in church. I sit two seats behind him, unbeknownst to him. The plan was to just conveniently be right there after sacrament meeting so I could talk to him. Except my plan was thwarted, because there was a ward choir musical number, so in the middle of the meeting I had to get up and walk right past him. He looked shocked. I kind of wanted to laugh. During the musical number I could see him watching me in my peripheral. I walk back to my seat; he smiles at me and is now noticeably tenser for the rest of the meeting. Aw, poor guy.
After the meeting, he walks up to me and says hello. I greet him, and then I ask, "So... which Sunday school do you usually go to?" Turns out he usually goes to the Conference talks one instead of gospel doctrine, where I usually go. "Well then, let's go to conference talks!" We did.
And then last Saturday, I am doing my laundry early in the day, and I get a call from him. I answer it and he proceeds to ask if I'd like to come country dancing with him that night. Heck yes.
So we go country dancing. In all the dance classes I've taken, I've gotten pretty good at following the guy's lead. I've also learned that dancing is basically a socially acceptable way of holding hands and holding close anybody who'll dance with you. Haha.
After an hour and a half of dancing, we are both kind of tired. He mentioned that he had gotten a movie for his birthday a few days ago. I suggested we go watch it. So we did.
Or at least we started it. Midnight came and so I had him take me home, so we didn't get to see the end. On the way home, it occurred to me that I might actually be comfortable with the idea of dating him. Hm. That's never happened before. So I plotted, and asked, "So... when are we going to finish the movie?"
Jared blinked. "Um, er... when do you want to?"
I thought for a moment, then said, "Well, honestly, I don't have time until Friday... when do you get out of class?"
"Two," he said.
"Hmm. That's a bit late for lunch. Well, we can do it at dinner. In fact, we could make dinner!"
"Okay!"
"So... what shall we make?"
At this point he was looking quite pleased. He piped up. "I don't know, but we could go shopping to get the ingredients for whatever we make beforehand..."
"Yes! Let's do that. So... how is Friday at 4?" I responded.
"Good." We decided to do it at my place. And while we'd finish the movie, we'd look through cookbooks until we found something particularly appetizing and within our budget.
Whoo! You should all be proud of me for my slyness and smoothness. And especially my boldness.
Yesterday at church I came with the intent of sitting next to him. I scan the room, only to find that he is sitting where the sacrament-passers sit. Dang. That means I don't know where he's sitting. Oh well. I walk straight up to him: "Jared. Where are you sitting?"
He seemed to like that. "Uhhh... two seats behind Sterling."
"Okay. I'm going to sit by you." And I left to secure my space... unfortunately the only empty seat there was right behind him, so when he came back he was tense again because he couldn't see me but he knew I was there. He seemed like he was kind of nervous, and if I could warrant a guess, I think he was probably trying to think of what he would say to me after sacrament meeting was over. I think I was right because as soon as it ended, he turned around and said, "I picked which Sunday school to go to last week. So it's your turn to pick!"
Ooh, good one. "Let's go to gospel doctrine in the West wing!" We did, and sat next to each other. The roll got to him first. Then he passed it to me and mumbled something I didn't quite catch. I found my name and realized he had marked it for me and what he had said was "I marked you." So I laughed and replied, "So you did!"
We had to separate afterward for Relief Society and Elder's Quorum, but not before a hug. After church I was socializing in the lobby when I suddenly realized he was next to me again. "You should walk me home," I suggested hopefully. He obliged.
On the way, he said quietly, "Are you going to the ward fireside tonight?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Yeah," he replied.
"Yay!" I exclaimed. "Can you walk me over?"
He liked that idea. He did walk me over, and we sat next to each other, and he walked me home as well. The ward gossip queen noticed us and came over afterward and pried the story out of me. Apparently it's a cute story.
And all my roommates get giggly whenever they see us together. They all approve and keep saying things like, "Jared and Jenna. It sounds cute." Okay, guys, whatever.
My roommates also kept telling me that a few other guys in the ward liked me. I didn't believe them until I noticed them drooping when they saw me spending so much time with Jared. Oh sad.
And that's all. Two and a half weeks left of the semester! Whoo! And then I move.
Bye, Jenna!
Of note, I brutally rejected John. Sad day for him. He was the one who: I met on a blind date on Valentine's day, randomly showed up at my door when I really didn't want to see him, asked me on a date to dinner at his place, I refused (I don't trust him) but decided instead to take him to the humongous roommate group date where there would be plenty of people at which he insisted to make the hamburger buns himself from scratch (they were actually quite good), volunteered to fix my computer, and actually did fix my computer. I think that's where I left you guys hanging last.
Nice guy. Except I kind of couldn't stand spending time with him for more than small time intervals. He was a tad annoying. Well, the day after the big group date, I receive a text from John. "Would you like to come to dinner tonight?" No, I wouldn't like to come to dinner with you. Ever. Plus, I'm home sick from church feeling miserable. I text back "No thanks, I'm not interested." I thought that was polite. But apparently I wasn't direct enough. "Oh, are you still sick?" comes the response. I text back, "Yes, indeed." Then: "So would you be interested in dinner some other time?" Blegh. I repeat, "No thanks, I'm not interested." No response, so I figured he finally got the message. Except that twenty-four hours later, I receive a slightly bitter text: "Oh. I'm sorry to hear that. Sorry to disappoint you." I didn't respond... I figured that getting a text like, "Oh, I'm not disappointed, I never had my hopes up in the first place" would be a bit brutal.
Okay, so the other guy I mentioned from last time -- Jared. As a refresher:
Jared is probably the quietest, shyest guy I've met in my entire life. I remember I had a brief conversation with him at a ward prayer back in January. In late February, I finally realize... he keeps following me around at ward events trying to talk to me. Except that's a difficult task, since I'm kind of like an excited little puppy bouncing around trying to say hello to everyone and give them all hugs, etc.
After this realization, I stop the puppy-act and stop and just talk to him for a while. It seemed like he was struggling to make conversation, like he didn't know what to say, but I find out that he works at Teriyaki Stix, and exactly when he works, and that in two weeks he won't be working there anymore. I told him I'd go visit him.
So I'd better get a move on. One Tuesday at lunchtime I dash over to the Cougareat and head straight for Teriyaki Stix. I see Jared at the register, looking a little down. I walk up, and when he sees me, it was like sunshine just filled his soul. He perked up and was visibly happy to see me. "I told you I'd come visit you," I said. He just kind of smiled and stuttered. Aha! Suspicion confirmed. The shy guy likes me.
As I am waiting for my food, he suddenly pipes up. "Jenna! I'll call you tonight!"
I smile. "Okay, I'd like that." And then my food is ready, and I leave.
He did call, and that resulted in a date to the Hunger Banquet that Friday. He bought me a rose. Afterwards we played Boggle.
At some point he gathered enough courage to call me again. So we went on a date to Divine Comedy. It was kind of funny though -- he had already asked all the questions he had asked last time. And I could almost see him beating himself up every time he realized he'd already asked that question. So I started to take over the conversation and ask new questions. After the show was over, he took me home. And I just have to say -- the hug at the end was goooood.
So on Sunday, I find him in church. I sit two seats behind him, unbeknownst to him. The plan was to just conveniently be right there after sacrament meeting so I could talk to him. Except my plan was thwarted, because there was a ward choir musical number, so in the middle of the meeting I had to get up and walk right past him. He looked shocked. I kind of wanted to laugh. During the musical number I could see him watching me in my peripheral. I walk back to my seat; he smiles at me and is now noticeably tenser for the rest of the meeting. Aw, poor guy.
After the meeting, he walks up to me and says hello. I greet him, and then I ask, "So... which Sunday school do you usually go to?" Turns out he usually goes to the Conference talks one instead of gospel doctrine, where I usually go. "Well then, let's go to conference talks!" We did.
And then last Saturday, I am doing my laundry early in the day, and I get a call from him. I answer it and he proceeds to ask if I'd like to come country dancing with him that night. Heck yes.
So we go country dancing. In all the dance classes I've taken, I've gotten pretty good at following the guy's lead. I've also learned that dancing is basically a socially acceptable way of holding hands and holding close anybody who'll dance with you. Haha.
After an hour and a half of dancing, we are both kind of tired. He mentioned that he had gotten a movie for his birthday a few days ago. I suggested we go watch it. So we did.
Or at least we started it. Midnight came and so I had him take me home, so we didn't get to see the end. On the way home, it occurred to me that I might actually be comfortable with the idea of dating him. Hm. That's never happened before. So I plotted, and asked, "So... when are we going to finish the movie?"
Jared blinked. "Um, er... when do you want to?"
I thought for a moment, then said, "Well, honestly, I don't have time until Friday... when do you get out of class?"
"Two," he said.
"Hmm. That's a bit late for lunch. Well, we can do it at dinner. In fact, we could make dinner!"
"Okay!"
"So... what shall we make?"
At this point he was looking quite pleased. He piped up. "I don't know, but we could go shopping to get the ingredients for whatever we make beforehand..."
"Yes! Let's do that. So... how is Friday at 4?" I responded.
"Good." We decided to do it at my place. And while we'd finish the movie, we'd look through cookbooks until we found something particularly appetizing and within our budget.
Whoo! You should all be proud of me for my slyness and smoothness. And especially my boldness.
Yesterday at church I came with the intent of sitting next to him. I scan the room, only to find that he is sitting where the sacrament-passers sit. Dang. That means I don't know where he's sitting. Oh well. I walk straight up to him: "Jared. Where are you sitting?"
He seemed to like that. "Uhhh... two seats behind Sterling."
"Okay. I'm going to sit by you." And I left to secure my space... unfortunately the only empty seat there was right behind him, so when he came back he was tense again because he couldn't see me but he knew I was there. He seemed like he was kind of nervous, and if I could warrant a guess, I think he was probably trying to think of what he would say to me after sacrament meeting was over. I think I was right because as soon as it ended, he turned around and said, "I picked which Sunday school to go to last week. So it's your turn to pick!"
Ooh, good one. "Let's go to gospel doctrine in the West wing!" We did, and sat next to each other. The roll got to him first. Then he passed it to me and mumbled something I didn't quite catch. I found my name and realized he had marked it for me and what he had said was "I marked you." So I laughed and replied, "So you did!"
We had to separate afterward for Relief Society and Elder's Quorum, but not before a hug. After church I was socializing in the lobby when I suddenly realized he was next to me again. "You should walk me home," I suggested hopefully. He obliged.
On the way, he said quietly, "Are you going to the ward fireside tonight?"
"Yes. Are you?"
"Yeah," he replied.
"Yay!" I exclaimed. "Can you walk me over?"
He liked that idea. He did walk me over, and we sat next to each other, and he walked me home as well. The ward gossip queen noticed us and came over afterward and pried the story out of me. Apparently it's a cute story.
And all my roommates get giggly whenever they see us together. They all approve and keep saying things like, "Jared and Jenna. It sounds cute." Okay, guys, whatever.
My roommates also kept telling me that a few other guys in the ward liked me. I didn't believe them until I noticed them drooping when they saw me spending so much time with Jared. Oh sad.
And that's all. Two and a half weeks left of the semester! Whoo! And then I move.
Bye, Jenna!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Finally...
February is over! I have an unbridled hatred for it. But March is here! Yay!
This week was pretty interesting. For starters, in biology I got to alter bacterial DNA to make the suckers glow in the dark. And then I made a bajillion copies of my own genomic DNA via a polymerase chain reaction (PCR). Don't worry, scientists do it all the time, particularly in forensics. Ever wonder how they get enough DNA to run a gajillion tests from just a few cells? PCR, my friends, PCR. Join all the molecular biologists in the world and sing praises to God for it. So... yeah, that was pretty exciting.
Except the molecular biological glory was immediately quashed when I came home from lab and checked the transaction history for my checking account only to discover that someone has been illegally taking money out of my account. Well, crap. Fixing this involved a ridiculous amount of stern phone calls. Which in and of itself is as horrifying as the thought of identity theft. By the end of the night, I had made more phone calls in a mere couple of hours than I had in the past six months. I don't remember ever being so exhausted, but somehow by the end of it, pressing the "Talk" button wasn't so traumatizing as before.
The next day I was not well-rested, so I suspect I was operating on reserve energy. I barely scraped by in my classes. Upon the arrival of lunchtime, instead of going home, I had the sudden urge to go to the Cougareat. Specifically Teriyaki Stix. But not because I was particularly craving an orange chicken bowl, but because a guy in my ward worked there.
Jared Keeley is among the shyest and quietest guys in the 26th ward. However, at the last few ward functions he's been following me around trying to talk to me. Among the things I've found out about him is that one of his jobs is a TA in the electrical engineering lab, but the other is cashier at Teriyaki Stix, Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon to 2pm.
When I got to Teriyaki Stix I was pleased to find a nonexistent line and Jared at the register. Sweet. He was pretty much beaming when he realized that I had come to visit him. While I was waiting for my food, he said, "Hey, Jenna! I'll call you tonight, okay?" That was, indeed, okay.
That night I went out dancing with Jace to practice quickstep for DanceSport (we're competing next week). Afterwards, I discovered that Jared had called me. So I called him back. And then he asked me to the Hunger Banquet on Friday. I was pretty excited, because aside from the creepy guys I didn't want to date, I hadn't been asked out since... since... early June. I'd been on a few blind dates. And then Carlos didn't actually ask me on a date, he just barged in and practically announced, "I need a date. Any volunteers?" And I was the only one not busy (because I was the only one who hadn't been asked out already). Pretty lame, if I may say so.
I live in a six-person apartment... but I guess you could say more people live here than that. Among the unofficial residents is Shannon's best friend, Lisa. Lisa decided to set up a roommate group date -- which meant we all had to find boys to ask. Darn. I had one in mind by the name of Matt, but I didn't end up asking him.
So, perhaps you might remember John. He's a little weird and a little full of himself, but all in all, not that bad. Last Saturday I was home sick watching old Star Trek episodes like a bum. And the doorbell rang. I recoiled at the sound thereof, and fled upstairs when I peeked out the eyehole and saw who it was. It was John. I climbed in bed and pretended to be asleep, hoping beyond hope that someone else would answer the door and inform him that I wasn't home, or else that he would just give up and leave.
Except no one else was home. And he rang the doorbell a few more times. Then he started knocking. He's going to be here forever unless I tell him to go away. I reluctantly trudged downstairs and answered the door.
"Hi!" said John.
"... ... Hi," I answered, trying not to glower too much.
"I, erm, was, uh, just happened to be around, and I, uh, wanted to say hello --"
"Hello." Well, John, you succeeded in saying hello. Congratulations.
"Erm, does your doorbell work? 'Cause, uh, I wasn't sure."
"It works just fine," I said in brutal honesty.
John blanched. "Well, yeah, hello, and, um, I'm sorry I didn't call this week, I've, er, been kind of busy --"
Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Anthony had asked my permission to give John my phone number because he had asked for it. I gave him my permission. "Oh. I've been busy too. And sick. I'm sick right now." I emphasized my illness.
"Oh, yeah, well, uh, that's too bad... erm... I'm busy this weekend, but, uh, maybe we could do something next weekend?"
"Okay."
"Yeah, well, uh, I just wanted to say, erm, hello, so..."
"Hello," I responded again.
"Yeah, okay. Feel better... bye."
"Bye." And I shut the door. Okay, so I suppose I'd better explain. It's not that I disliked John or anything like that. But -- I happen to be like all the other women in the world and I get witchy upon occasion. When this happens, I prefer not to interact with people. I hole myself up until it passes, because I don't want to insult the entire world and then have to fix it all later. So -- I didn't want to talk to John. At all. Anyone could have tried to visit and I would probably have met them with hostility. I am usually able to restrain myself from saying anything rude, but masking the cold tone of voice and the glare is a little harder. So... now he probably thinks I hate him. An hour later when witch-Jenna was gone, I started to feel bad for him.
But kudos to John for bravery (either that or he doesn't pick up on social cues); he called me this week, but I missed the call. In the voicemail message he asked me if I wanted to come to his place and have dinner, play some games, and meet his roommates.
I called back. "So, about Saturday," I said. "I can't come to your place, but... we've been planning a roommate group date. So you can come to my place for dinner and games and meet my roommates." What I didn't say was -- I don't trust you, John. If there is going to be a date happening -- it is not going to be one-on-one, it is going to be on familiar turf, and that's that.
He didn't seem to mind coming to the group date instead. He offered to bring some food to help. Well... Lisa wanted to make hamburgers, because apparently her grandmother has the best hamburger recipe in the world... so... "Well, you can bring hamburger buns, I guess."
"Okay, sure thing. I'll even make them myself!" came the response.
That took a minute to process. Wait. He wants to... make the hamburger buns? What? Who the heck makes hamburger buns? Well, apparently John does. And thus he weaseled his way into coming over a tad earlier than everyone else so he can use our oven. I told him it would be just fine if he bought them, but he insisted.
So... yeah. Just a little bit weirded out. ... This boy is weird. I am beginning to understand why he wasn't able to get a date to Divine Comedy. Apparently, he had asked sixteen girls and they all said no. Heeeh.
Anyway, Friday came, and with it came more illness. I kept waking up during the night feeling nauseous, or coughing, or unable to breathe. I finally had to get up for class... I went to class, came home and felt miserable. Now this just isn't fair. Tonight is the first date I've actually been asked on for nearly ten months and I get really, really sick? All day I could hardly keep what little food I ate down. Now this is just miserable.
Shannon was sick with something else, and her boyfriend came over with soup. Aw, how sweet. He let me have some too. I think it was miracle soup, because after a small dosage of that, I felt much better, and when Jared came, I felt ready to handle a bowl of rice and beans.
Jared and I went to the Hunger Banquet. Well, the whole point of this thing is that it's supposed to be an eyeopening experience to the inequality in the world. People are randomly assigned to "lower class", "middle class", and "higher class." Then they are served different meals according to their rank. Lower class, seated on the floor on top of a bunch of collapsed cardboard boxes, gets a teeny bowl of rice and beans and one paper cup of water... and they are served last. Middle class sits in chairs around the edge of the room with a slightly better meal, a styrofoam cup of water... served second. High class sits at fancy tables at the front of the room, and are served a full three course meal, with nice overflowing goblets of water that get refilled before the drinker has a chance to empty it. And, of course, they get served first. The vast majority of people in attendance were escorted to the lower class section. A few were taken to sit with the middle class, and virtually no one was taken to the high class section.
Since my tummy was not speaking to me, I fully expected and actually hoped for a mere bowl of rice and beans. However, as my luck would have it, Jared and I were escorted directly to the high class section. How ironic. I was probably the only one in the room who wanted to be lower class, and what do I get? High class.
My first course came -- tasty bread and a big plate of salad. Hungry eyes stared at us from the entire room. This was kind of sad. In between performances, Jared and I talked a bit. The performances were from various cultural groups and were very enjoyable.
Then came a hefty plate full of pulled pork, divinely seasoned mashed potatoes, and buttery corn. Then the middle class were given a measly plate of something else. But still, hungry eyes glared at us.
Little kids were walking around, mumbling in their little kid voices -- "Buy flower for dollar?" They held bouquets of roses. Jared leaned over and said, "You want a rose, Jenna?" I did want one, and he got me one. Yay! I haven't gotten a flower of any sort from a boy since... since... ... ... freshman year of high school. And that was from my stalker. Lame.
Then -- a bowl of chocolate chip cookie a la mode. Finally, the lower class was served, and they ate pretty much nothing. Now they really glared. After the banquet was over, we learned a dance, and then Jared took me home. Except I forgot my keys, and no one was home. So we went to his place and played Boggle, until one of my roommates were home to let me in. Then I went straight to bed. I was so tired from pretending not to be as sick as I was... thankfully though, all that high class food settled well in my stomach. It seems my tummy accepted the peace offering. Still, I slept horribly.
Saturday... blegh. I wasn't really looking forward to the date, because my head felt like a balloon about to pop. Hillary's friend did a Mary Kay party at our house just before the date, so we all looked like supermodels by the time our dates arrived. (I'm not sure I liked the makeup she did for me. It was a bit dramatic for my taste. And she used blue? I usually don't, just because when I do that, suddenly eyes look even bluer than they already are and it's basically demanding, "NOTICE ME!" Sometimes I'd rather not be noticed.)
John came over early on his motorcycle with dough. He cooked the buns in our oven. And then randomly our conversation turned to malware and such. And, being a computer techy guy, he took on the task of fixing my computer. I have to admit... it works like new. He was very thorough. I think he noticed that the latest search on my computer was "weather 84606" -- so now I have a nifty little weather gadget embedded in my browser. Nifty.
I couldn't help but draw the connection though -- the last time anyone's gone through this much effort to do things for me -- it was Michael Smith, Mr. Fix-It, and he was fixing every drawer in my kitchen and tightening every screw he could find. That kind of made my heart sink. I really hope this boy doesn't like-like me as Michael did. Initiate denial sequence now! I just don't want to deal with it! My hope is that if he noticed what my last Google search was, that he also noticed the picture on my desktop. BYU people have an annoying tendency to assume that if you have a picture of a missionary friend, then you're waiting for him. Perhaps John has also made this assumption. Cross your fingers! :D
It was the most ginormous group date I've ever been on -- eight couples. Ridiculous, huh? There were burgers and hot dogs, potato salad, fruit and vegetables, chips, and lemonade. There were lots of games and stories told... and pretty much, there's not much else to say. John was his usual aloof and awkward self. By the end of the night I was SO glad it was over. Too. Tired. To. Function. Agh!!! The End.
This week was pretty interesting. For starters, in biology I got to alter bacterial DNA to make the suckers glow in the dark. And then I made a bajillion copies of my own genomic DNA via a polymerase chain reaction (PCR). Don't worry, scientists do it all the time, particularly in forensics. Ever wonder how they get enough DNA to run a gajillion tests from just a few cells? PCR, my friends, PCR. Join all the molecular biologists in the world and sing praises to God for it. So... yeah, that was pretty exciting.
Except the molecular biological glory was immediately quashed when I came home from lab and checked the transaction history for my checking account only to discover that someone has been illegally taking money out of my account. Well, crap. Fixing this involved a ridiculous amount of stern phone calls. Which in and of itself is as horrifying as the thought of identity theft. By the end of the night, I had made more phone calls in a mere couple of hours than I had in the past six months. I don't remember ever being so exhausted, but somehow by the end of it, pressing the "Talk" button wasn't so traumatizing as before.
The next day I was not well-rested, so I suspect I was operating on reserve energy. I barely scraped by in my classes. Upon the arrival of lunchtime, instead of going home, I had the sudden urge to go to the Cougareat. Specifically Teriyaki Stix. But not because I was particularly craving an orange chicken bowl, but because a guy in my ward worked there.
Jared Keeley is among the shyest and quietest guys in the 26th ward. However, at the last few ward functions he's been following me around trying to talk to me. Among the things I've found out about him is that one of his jobs is a TA in the electrical engineering lab, but the other is cashier at Teriyaki Stix, Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon to 2pm.
When I got to Teriyaki Stix I was pleased to find a nonexistent line and Jared at the register. Sweet. He was pretty much beaming when he realized that I had come to visit him. While I was waiting for my food, he said, "Hey, Jenna! I'll call you tonight, okay?" That was, indeed, okay.
That night I went out dancing with Jace to practice quickstep for DanceSport (we're competing next week). Afterwards, I discovered that Jared had called me. So I called him back. And then he asked me to the Hunger Banquet on Friday. I was pretty excited, because aside from the creepy guys I didn't want to date, I hadn't been asked out since... since... early June. I'd been on a few blind dates. And then Carlos didn't actually ask me on a date, he just barged in and practically announced, "I need a date. Any volunteers?" And I was the only one not busy (because I was the only one who hadn't been asked out already). Pretty lame, if I may say so.
I live in a six-person apartment... but I guess you could say more people live here than that. Among the unofficial residents is Shannon's best friend, Lisa. Lisa decided to set up a roommate group date -- which meant we all had to find boys to ask. Darn. I had one in mind by the name of Matt, but I didn't end up asking him.
So, perhaps you might remember John. He's a little weird and a little full of himself, but all in all, not that bad. Last Saturday I was home sick watching old Star Trek episodes like a bum. And the doorbell rang. I recoiled at the sound thereof, and fled upstairs when I peeked out the eyehole and saw who it was. It was John. I climbed in bed and pretended to be asleep, hoping beyond hope that someone else would answer the door and inform him that I wasn't home, or else that he would just give up and leave.
Except no one else was home. And he rang the doorbell a few more times. Then he started knocking. He's going to be here forever unless I tell him to go away. I reluctantly trudged downstairs and answered the door.
"Hi!" said John.
"... ... Hi," I answered, trying not to glower too much.
"I, erm, was, uh, just happened to be around, and I, uh, wanted to say hello --"
"Hello." Well, John, you succeeded in saying hello. Congratulations.
"Erm, does your doorbell work? 'Cause, uh, I wasn't sure."
"It works just fine," I said in brutal honesty.
John blanched. "Well, yeah, hello, and, um, I'm sorry I didn't call this week, I've, er, been kind of busy --"
Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Anthony had asked my permission to give John my phone number because he had asked for it. I gave him my permission. "Oh. I've been busy too. And sick. I'm sick right now." I emphasized my illness.
"Oh, yeah, well, uh, that's too bad... erm... I'm busy this weekend, but, uh, maybe we could do something next weekend?"
"Okay."
"Yeah, well, uh, I just wanted to say, erm, hello, so..."
"Hello," I responded again.
"Yeah, okay. Feel better... bye."
"Bye." And I shut the door. Okay, so I suppose I'd better explain. It's not that I disliked John or anything like that. But -- I happen to be like all the other women in the world and I get witchy upon occasion. When this happens, I prefer not to interact with people. I hole myself up until it passes, because I don't want to insult the entire world and then have to fix it all later. So -- I didn't want to talk to John. At all. Anyone could have tried to visit and I would probably have met them with hostility. I am usually able to restrain myself from saying anything rude, but masking the cold tone of voice and the glare is a little harder. So... now he probably thinks I hate him. An hour later when witch-Jenna was gone, I started to feel bad for him.
But kudos to John for bravery (either that or he doesn't pick up on social cues); he called me this week, but I missed the call. In the voicemail message he asked me if I wanted to come to his place and have dinner, play some games, and meet his roommates.
I called back. "So, about Saturday," I said. "I can't come to your place, but... we've been planning a roommate group date. So you can come to my place for dinner and games and meet my roommates." What I didn't say was -- I don't trust you, John. If there is going to be a date happening -- it is not going to be one-on-one, it is going to be on familiar turf, and that's that.
He didn't seem to mind coming to the group date instead. He offered to bring some food to help. Well... Lisa wanted to make hamburgers, because apparently her grandmother has the best hamburger recipe in the world... so... "Well, you can bring hamburger buns, I guess."
"Okay, sure thing. I'll even make them myself!" came the response.
That took a minute to process. Wait. He wants to... make the hamburger buns? What? Who the heck makes hamburger buns? Well, apparently John does. And thus he weaseled his way into coming over a tad earlier than everyone else so he can use our oven. I told him it would be just fine if he bought them, but he insisted.
So... yeah. Just a little bit weirded out. ... This boy is weird. I am beginning to understand why he wasn't able to get a date to Divine Comedy. Apparently, he had asked sixteen girls and they all said no. Heeeh.
Anyway, Friday came, and with it came more illness. I kept waking up during the night feeling nauseous, or coughing, or unable to breathe. I finally had to get up for class... I went to class, came home and felt miserable. Now this just isn't fair. Tonight is the first date I've actually been asked on for nearly ten months and I get really, really sick? All day I could hardly keep what little food I ate down. Now this is just miserable.
Shannon was sick with something else, and her boyfriend came over with soup. Aw, how sweet. He let me have some too. I think it was miracle soup, because after a small dosage of that, I felt much better, and when Jared came, I felt ready to handle a bowl of rice and beans.
Jared and I went to the Hunger Banquet. Well, the whole point of this thing is that it's supposed to be an eyeopening experience to the inequality in the world. People are randomly assigned to "lower class", "middle class", and "higher class." Then they are served different meals according to their rank. Lower class, seated on the floor on top of a bunch of collapsed cardboard boxes, gets a teeny bowl of rice and beans and one paper cup of water... and they are served last. Middle class sits in chairs around the edge of the room with a slightly better meal, a styrofoam cup of water... served second. High class sits at fancy tables at the front of the room, and are served a full three course meal, with nice overflowing goblets of water that get refilled before the drinker has a chance to empty it. And, of course, they get served first. The vast majority of people in attendance were escorted to the lower class section. A few were taken to sit with the middle class, and virtually no one was taken to the high class section.
Since my tummy was not speaking to me, I fully expected and actually hoped for a mere bowl of rice and beans. However, as my luck would have it, Jared and I were escorted directly to the high class section. How ironic. I was probably the only one in the room who wanted to be lower class, and what do I get? High class.
My first course came -- tasty bread and a big plate of salad. Hungry eyes stared at us from the entire room. This was kind of sad. In between performances, Jared and I talked a bit. The performances were from various cultural groups and were very enjoyable.
Then came a hefty plate full of pulled pork, divinely seasoned mashed potatoes, and buttery corn. Then the middle class were given a measly plate of something else. But still, hungry eyes glared at us.
Little kids were walking around, mumbling in their little kid voices -- "Buy flower for dollar?" They held bouquets of roses. Jared leaned over and said, "You want a rose, Jenna?" I did want one, and he got me one. Yay! I haven't gotten a flower of any sort from a boy since... since... ... ... freshman year of high school. And that was from my stalker. Lame.
Then -- a bowl of chocolate chip cookie a la mode. Finally, the lower class was served, and they ate pretty much nothing. Now they really glared. After the banquet was over, we learned a dance, and then Jared took me home. Except I forgot my keys, and no one was home. So we went to his place and played Boggle, until one of my roommates were home to let me in. Then I went straight to bed. I was so tired from pretending not to be as sick as I was... thankfully though, all that high class food settled well in my stomach. It seems my tummy accepted the peace offering. Still, I slept horribly.
Saturday... blegh. I wasn't really looking forward to the date, because my head felt like a balloon about to pop. Hillary's friend did a Mary Kay party at our house just before the date, so we all looked like supermodels by the time our dates arrived. (I'm not sure I liked the makeup she did for me. It was a bit dramatic for my taste. And she used blue? I usually don't, just because when I do that, suddenly eyes look even bluer than they already are and it's basically demanding, "NOTICE ME!" Sometimes I'd rather not be noticed.)
John came over early on his motorcycle with dough. He cooked the buns in our oven. And then randomly our conversation turned to malware and such. And, being a computer techy guy, he took on the task of fixing my computer. I have to admit... it works like new. He was very thorough. I think he noticed that the latest search on my computer was "weather 84606" -- so now I have a nifty little weather gadget embedded in my browser. Nifty.
I couldn't help but draw the connection though -- the last time anyone's gone through this much effort to do things for me -- it was Michael Smith, Mr. Fix-It, and he was fixing every drawer in my kitchen and tightening every screw he could find. That kind of made my heart sink. I really hope this boy doesn't like-like me as Michael did. Initiate denial sequence now! I just don't want to deal with it! My hope is that if he noticed what my last Google search was, that he also noticed the picture on my desktop. BYU people have an annoying tendency to assume that if you have a picture of a missionary friend, then you're waiting for him. Perhaps John has also made this assumption. Cross your fingers! :D
It was the most ginormous group date I've ever been on -- eight couples. Ridiculous, huh? There were burgers and hot dogs, potato salad, fruit and vegetables, chips, and lemonade. There were lots of games and stories told... and pretty much, there's not much else to say. John was his usual aloof and awkward self. By the end of the night I was SO glad it was over. Too. Tired. To. Function. Agh!!! The End.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Icy Tumble.
Happy Valentine's Day and President's Day! :D I have some stories for you!
Valentine's Day morning I woke up mightily early to get in line to buy a new contract for next year. I decided that although I despise moving with a passion -- I'm going to move out of dear little 366. I wasn't sure at first why I should move out. It came as a shock; Sunday night, out of the blue, I had the strong impression that I should not live here next year. I was quite confused. I'm happy here. I love Hillary and Rachel, who have resolved not to move out of 366 at all. Possibly not ever. I like my ward, I'm close to campus, etc.
At dinner group though, I mentioned that I wanted to move into a different apartment, and my neighbor Josie (who I don't actually know very well) mentioned that she too wanted to move out. We got to talking, and we soon realized that we'd be good roommates, and thus we resolved to room together next year. It was strange, but I felt really calm and peaceful about it, although neither of us had any clue where we'd end up living. I had a roommate, but no room.
I worked up my bravery several times during the week and visited a bajillion women's apartments in the ward, because although I felt like I shouldn't live in 366, I had the peculiar feeling that I'd be moving somewhere close by -- somewhere else in Monticello, specifically. However, after exhausting myself by acting outside of my comfort zone, I came home feeling uneasy about everywhere I had looked.
I woke up the morning of contract signings still unsure as to where I should live, which was a little scary. However, now was the time to act. Apartments at Monticello go fast. Like... crazy fast. I went out into the outside world, where snow was coming down fast. I felt a little strange. I don't know how to explain it. I had to sign a contract NOW and I didn't know which apartment I was going to live in yet. But I just felt like Josie would know exactly what to do, even though I didn't.
Indeed, I found the line already extending past the laundry room (eek!) but I found Josie standing near the front of the line. She grabbed me and, with a gleam in her eye, said, "What do you think about white brick?"
I stood there in shock. I hadn't even considered white brick. Pretty much, those are the only Monticello women's apartments that aren't in my ward, and I hadn't even remembered them. I've never seen the inside of them. And the peace inside of me told me that that is where I should live next year. "Yes," I said. "I think that's a good idea." I paused. "What are they like?"
Josie had never seen them either. But Melanie, also in line, had. She described them to us -- bigger bedrooms, LOTS of closet space, slightly bigger living room, two bathroom sinks, and the toilet and shower in their own little room next to the sinks. That would be splendid. Josie and I signed contracts for spring, summer, fall, and winter. I went home feeling wonderful.
In the evening, nearly all my roommates either went home for the weekend or left on dates. Alone in the kitchen, I felt a craving for Ramen, and decided it was a good idea to take advantage of such a cheap craving. I did scramble an egg and drizzled it in the pot egg-drop soup style though, to add to the nutritional value. Tasty. Valentine's Day Ramen. Mmmm. Just as I started to eat, my phone rang.
What? My phone? No one ever calls me! It was Hillary. That's strange, she just left on a date. She asked Anthony to go see Divine Comedy with her. He is, in my opinion, among the cutest guys in our ward.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Jenna! Do you want to go on a blind date? And see Divine Comedy?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, one of Anthony's friends is here with an extra ticket and no date."
"What time do I need to be there?"
"Seven!" It was six-fifteen.
"Okay!... What is my date's name?"
"John."
"Okay, bye!"
Excited, I hung up, finished my Ramen concoction, and ran out the door. I had to stop running though, because the roads and sidewalks were ridiculously icy. I got to the Stairs of Death by the duck pond, and warily eyed the stairs. I could see my reflection in some of them. I gripped the handrail tightly and made my way up the stairs. I nearly slipped and died several times on the way to the Wilk, but managed to stay on my feet somehow.
Once at the Wilk, I found Anthony, Hillary, and John near the middle-front of the line. I talked to John a bit, and it was pretty much only the basic questions. We got into the show (which was AMAZING). We sat near Kerstin, Cherish, Liz, and Claire, which I thought was fortunate, because although I visited them, Cherish had been home. So I got a hug from her.
After the show, the Anthony, Hillary, John, and I walked home. We tread very carefully, and John put spikes on the bottom of his shoes to be safe. When we got to the stairs, and the four of us gripped the handrail as tightly as we could, and tread carefully. However, halfway down, I stepped -- and instead of supporting me, my foot slid up into the air -- my hands were wrenched from the hand rail --
I must have had some torque going on because, in the air, I spun ever so slightly -- and I landed heavily on the left side of my thigh on the stairs -- and then onto my stomach --
But it did not stop there -- there was no friction between me and the stairs -- I slid down them, and I could not stop --
My face met the icy stairs, albeit rather gently in comparison to the violent impact my leg had made earlier --
Sliding down, I saw three horrified faces as I slid down -- ka-dunk, ka-dunk, ka-dunk -- until, finally, the median handrail stopped me.
"JENNA! Are you okay?" screamed Hillary.
"Yeah," I said shakily.
John helped me up, and escorted me by the arm the remainder of the way home. I was winded, and my throat was tight with fear, so when I spoke I sounded like I was crying although I was not. I probably should have been though -- I was in a lot of pain. We went to Cold Stone and got some ice cream. (It was cold enough that the ice cream warmed us up.) I got a strawberry shake, John got a banana split. We got to talking while Anthony and Hillary were waiting for their treats.
"Did you doze off during the show?" asked John.
I was surprised by this question; it had been amazing. "No, I did not."
"Oh. I thought I saw you jerk a couple of times during the show."
I laughed. Oh, I see. "I have a tic disorder of some sort," I explained.
"Ah, I understand then. I also have a neurological disorder. I've got a tremor. See, my hands always tremble a little, in case you hadn't noticed." I had. It was ever so slight, but it was just barely noticable.
And then I had a nerd moment. I couldn't help it; it just came out. It just happened. "That's a lower motor neuron problem!" I commented.
He kind of laughed to himself. "It is indeed. My dad's a neuropsychologist."
After ice cream, we headed back to my apartment, and we played Apples-to-Apples until midnight. John and I tied with eight green apple cards -- pretty much owning everyone else. The guys left and went home. And I went to bed.
Last night there was a triward fireside, during which I spied a very good-looking boy. I decided I would go talk to him afterward. After the closing prayer, I made my way over to the refreshments where he was (of course) gravitating. However, I looked down at my coat and realized with mild horror that my fairly-new coat was missing a button. Oh dear. I had it when I said amen at end of the closing prayer, so it had to be here somewhere. The coat came with extra buttons, so it wouldn't have been the end of the world if I couldn't find it, but I set to work looking all over the floor for it anyway, the cute blond boy forgotten.
A guy from the 171st ward stopped me. "Excuse me, you seem to looking for something. Are you looking for me?"
I laughed. Very clever. "Well, no, actually. I've lost my button. Have you seen it?"
Instantly, about twenty good-looking men in suits and ties were scouring the floor for one measly little button. They made it seem like an intense game with heated competition. Soon enough, one jumped up. "Is this it?"
It was indeed, and all the guys cheered. "It was meant to be!" I heard repeatedly. "Now you have to exchange numbers!" "GIVE 'IM A HUG!" "Twoo wuv!!!" Well, the guy looked mighty pleased with himself (his name was Matt), and I thought it was funny. I did indeed give him a hug to express my thanks, but I didn't bother asking for his number. Even if I had the number and I wanted to take him on a date, I knew I wouldn't have called it. (Stupid phone phobia.) I would have given him mine, but he didn't ask for it; I don't think he particularly wanted it.
Another guy in the crowd did continue to flirt (the one who originally asked if I was looking for him... now that I think about it, I should have gotten his number... dang...). Bryce (in my ward) leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I dare you to go hold his hand. He totally wants you to."
I glared over at him. "No, I'm not going to do that." Even if he is cute. I believe I've mentioned Bryce before, but let me refresh your memory. This is the guy who knocked on our door one night and explained that he needed a girl to cuddle with -- any girl. We, of course, refused him. On a separate occasion, I was visiting another guy at his house, when he just came over and began to cuddle. I demanded that he get off me. He did.
Bryce shook his head at me. "You should. He would like it." Yes, probably, he might, but I'm not going to. I continued to glare. Bryce changed the subject. "I've got some hats you need to look at. I'm going home right now, or I'll be there right at nine to take stuff out of the oven." He was of course referring to my tradition of wearing a cool hat to every ward prayer, and he did indeed have some cool hats.
"Okay," I said.
"All right," he said. "I'll see you then." He proceeded to caress my shoulder and back.
I again glared at him, as coldly as I could. "Don't do that. Please."
He laughed and replied, "I love you because you're a nerd and you're awkward. And you're fun to tease."
I was not at all happy with that comment, but managed to pull off a calm face. "...You love me because I'm a nerd and I'm awkward?"
"Yeah, and you're fun to tease. You have an abnormal personality. You mean you haven't noticed?"
Hillary, who was standing nearby, heard all this and interrupted. "Bryce! That's mean!"
He stopped for a moment and considered. "Oh. I guess that could have been taken as an insult, huh?" No, Bryce, you think?
"Yes!" answered Hillary. "That was mean!"
"Well, I meant it as a compliment, honestly," Bryce retorted. Hillary glared. "Er... a back-handed compliment?"
I shook my head and left, with Hillary and Rachel in tow. Rachel immediately began her complaints. "Jenna, how do you do that? I turn my back on you for five seconds, and you're surrounded by twenty men!" Oh yeah, the button incident. I shrugged. I don't know, I wasn't really doing anything. Just looking for a button. And it doesn't even really do me any good, because my flirting skills are nonexistent. Whatever.
To be honest, Bryce's comment kind of bothered me, especially because it came from him. I'm awkward? I just have to wonder if it had ever occurred to him that knocking around asking for a girl to cuddle with -- any girl -- was actually VERY awkward. And that the general consensus in the female population is that such behavior is, indeed, awkward. No, probably not. He probably thinks that is a most clever thing to do.
But the reason such the comment really bothered me is because it kind of renewed my concern that my actions (or lack thereof) are being misinterpreted by the guys in my ward. I probably confuse them. And that's depressing. I don't regard physical affection as something you do casually with just anybody, or to be funny, or to use in flirting with a stranger, etc.
Someone explain this to me. How is this confusing?
I hug my friends, or people I'd like to be friends with. I don't cuddle with, or hold hands with, or let guys put their arm around me unless I am in a romantic relationship with them or I'm interested in establishing one. Really. I want to know. How is that confusing?
Because, see, I would have thought what a surprising amount of other people at BYU do would be much more confusing -- just holding hands and cuddling with any old person whether or not they're interested because it might be funny or because they just happen to think it'd be more comfortable that way (which it would be).
It's not that I think cuddling or holding hands in and of itself is awkward -- definitely not. I've always wanted to do so. Never have done so, but I want to. Really bad, actually. I mean, that's one of the ways in which I feel close to people, and therefore, it only makes sense that I be careful with it. I bond primarily through physical affection... the people who don't let me hug them are most often the ones I feel most distant from. The ones I get good hugs from are the ones I feel closest to.
I do, however, think it's awkward when the amount of physical affection people show towards each other does not accurately reflect the actual status of their relationship. So, no, Bryce. Don't put your arm around me. Don't caress me, don't cuddle me, don't. It's rather obvious you're not interesting in dating me (leastwise you shouldn't be; you've got a girlfriend) and I'm not interested in dating you. Stop pretending like we are dating.
Okay, I'll get off my soapbox now.
Have a good week and such,
Jenna Griffin
Valentine's Day morning I woke up mightily early to get in line to buy a new contract for next year. I decided that although I despise moving with a passion -- I'm going to move out of dear little 366. I wasn't sure at first why I should move out. It came as a shock; Sunday night, out of the blue, I had the strong impression that I should not live here next year. I was quite confused. I'm happy here. I love Hillary and Rachel, who have resolved not to move out of 366 at all. Possibly not ever. I like my ward, I'm close to campus, etc.
At dinner group though, I mentioned that I wanted to move into a different apartment, and my neighbor Josie (who I don't actually know very well) mentioned that she too wanted to move out. We got to talking, and we soon realized that we'd be good roommates, and thus we resolved to room together next year. It was strange, but I felt really calm and peaceful about it, although neither of us had any clue where we'd end up living. I had a roommate, but no room.
I worked up my bravery several times during the week and visited a bajillion women's apartments in the ward, because although I felt like I shouldn't live in 366, I had the peculiar feeling that I'd be moving somewhere close by -- somewhere else in Monticello, specifically. However, after exhausting myself by acting outside of my comfort zone, I came home feeling uneasy about everywhere I had looked.
I woke up the morning of contract signings still unsure as to where I should live, which was a little scary. However, now was the time to act. Apartments at Monticello go fast. Like... crazy fast. I went out into the outside world, where snow was coming down fast. I felt a little strange. I don't know how to explain it. I had to sign a contract NOW and I didn't know which apartment I was going to live in yet. But I just felt like Josie would know exactly what to do, even though I didn't.
Indeed, I found the line already extending past the laundry room (eek!) but I found Josie standing near the front of the line. She grabbed me and, with a gleam in her eye, said, "What do you think about white brick?"
I stood there in shock. I hadn't even considered white brick. Pretty much, those are the only Monticello women's apartments that aren't in my ward, and I hadn't even remembered them. I've never seen the inside of them. And the peace inside of me told me that that is where I should live next year. "Yes," I said. "I think that's a good idea." I paused. "What are they like?"
Josie had never seen them either. But Melanie, also in line, had. She described them to us -- bigger bedrooms, LOTS of closet space, slightly bigger living room, two bathroom sinks, and the toilet and shower in their own little room next to the sinks. That would be splendid. Josie and I signed contracts for spring, summer, fall, and winter. I went home feeling wonderful.
In the evening, nearly all my roommates either went home for the weekend or left on dates. Alone in the kitchen, I felt a craving for Ramen, and decided it was a good idea to take advantage of such a cheap craving. I did scramble an egg and drizzled it in the pot egg-drop soup style though, to add to the nutritional value. Tasty. Valentine's Day Ramen. Mmmm. Just as I started to eat, my phone rang.
What? My phone? No one ever calls me! It was Hillary. That's strange, she just left on a date. She asked Anthony to go see Divine Comedy with her. He is, in my opinion, among the cutest guys in our ward.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Jenna! Do you want to go on a blind date? And see Divine Comedy?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, one of Anthony's friends is here with an extra ticket and no date."
"What time do I need to be there?"
"Seven!" It was six-fifteen.
"Okay!... What is my date's name?"
"John."
"Okay, bye!"
Excited, I hung up, finished my Ramen concoction, and ran out the door. I had to stop running though, because the roads and sidewalks were ridiculously icy. I got to the Stairs of Death by the duck pond, and warily eyed the stairs. I could see my reflection in some of them. I gripped the handrail tightly and made my way up the stairs. I nearly slipped and died several times on the way to the Wilk, but managed to stay on my feet somehow.
Once at the Wilk, I found Anthony, Hillary, and John near the middle-front of the line. I talked to John a bit, and it was pretty much only the basic questions. We got into the show (which was AMAZING). We sat near Kerstin, Cherish, Liz, and Claire, which I thought was fortunate, because although I visited them, Cherish had been home. So I got a hug from her.
After the show, the Anthony, Hillary, John, and I walked home. We tread very carefully, and John put spikes on the bottom of his shoes to be safe. When we got to the stairs, and the four of us gripped the handrail as tightly as we could, and tread carefully. However, halfway down, I stepped -- and instead of supporting me, my foot slid up into the air -- my hands were wrenched from the hand rail --
I must have had some torque going on because, in the air, I spun ever so slightly -- and I landed heavily on the left side of my thigh on the stairs -- and then onto my stomach --
But it did not stop there -- there was no friction between me and the stairs -- I slid down them, and I could not stop --
My face met the icy stairs, albeit rather gently in comparison to the violent impact my leg had made earlier --
Sliding down, I saw three horrified faces as I slid down -- ka-dunk, ka-dunk, ka-dunk -- until, finally, the median handrail stopped me.
"JENNA! Are you okay?" screamed Hillary.
"Yeah," I said shakily.
John helped me up, and escorted me by the arm the remainder of the way home. I was winded, and my throat was tight with fear, so when I spoke I sounded like I was crying although I was not. I probably should have been though -- I was in a lot of pain. We went to Cold Stone and got some ice cream. (It was cold enough that the ice cream warmed us up.) I got a strawberry shake, John got a banana split. We got to talking while Anthony and Hillary were waiting for their treats.
"Did you doze off during the show?" asked John.
I was surprised by this question; it had been amazing. "No, I did not."
"Oh. I thought I saw you jerk a couple of times during the show."
I laughed. Oh, I see. "I have a tic disorder of some sort," I explained.
"Ah, I understand then. I also have a neurological disorder. I've got a tremor. See, my hands always tremble a little, in case you hadn't noticed." I had. It was ever so slight, but it was just barely noticable.
And then I had a nerd moment. I couldn't help it; it just came out. It just happened. "That's a lower motor neuron problem!" I commented.
He kind of laughed to himself. "It is indeed. My dad's a neuropsychologist."
After ice cream, we headed back to my apartment, and we played Apples-to-Apples until midnight. John and I tied with eight green apple cards -- pretty much owning everyone else. The guys left and went home. And I went to bed.
Last night there was a triward fireside, during which I spied a very good-looking boy. I decided I would go talk to him afterward. After the closing prayer, I made my way over to the refreshments where he was (of course) gravitating. However, I looked down at my coat and realized with mild horror that my fairly-new coat was missing a button. Oh dear. I had it when I said amen at end of the closing prayer, so it had to be here somewhere. The coat came with extra buttons, so it wouldn't have been the end of the world if I couldn't find it, but I set to work looking all over the floor for it anyway, the cute blond boy forgotten.
A guy from the 171st ward stopped me. "Excuse me, you seem to looking for something. Are you looking for me?"
I laughed. Very clever. "Well, no, actually. I've lost my button. Have you seen it?"
Instantly, about twenty good-looking men in suits and ties were scouring the floor for one measly little button. They made it seem like an intense game with heated competition. Soon enough, one jumped up. "Is this it?"
It was indeed, and all the guys cheered. "It was meant to be!" I heard repeatedly. "Now you have to exchange numbers!" "GIVE 'IM A HUG!" "Twoo wuv!!!" Well, the guy looked mighty pleased with himself (his name was Matt), and I thought it was funny. I did indeed give him a hug to express my thanks, but I didn't bother asking for his number. Even if I had the number and I wanted to take him on a date, I knew I wouldn't have called it. (Stupid phone phobia.) I would have given him mine, but he didn't ask for it; I don't think he particularly wanted it.
Another guy in the crowd did continue to flirt (the one who originally asked if I was looking for him... now that I think about it, I should have gotten his number... dang...). Bryce (in my ward) leaned over and whispered in my ear, "I dare you to go hold his hand. He totally wants you to."
I glared over at him. "No, I'm not going to do that." Even if he is cute. I believe I've mentioned Bryce before, but let me refresh your memory. This is the guy who knocked on our door one night and explained that he needed a girl to cuddle with -- any girl. We, of course, refused him. On a separate occasion, I was visiting another guy at his house, when he just came over and began to cuddle. I demanded that he get off me. He did.
Bryce shook his head at me. "You should. He would like it." Yes, probably, he might, but I'm not going to. I continued to glare. Bryce changed the subject. "I've got some hats you need to look at. I'm going home right now, or I'll be there right at nine to take stuff out of the oven." He was of course referring to my tradition of wearing a cool hat to every ward prayer, and he did indeed have some cool hats.
"Okay," I said.
"All right," he said. "I'll see you then." He proceeded to caress my shoulder and back.
I again glared at him, as coldly as I could. "Don't do that. Please."
He laughed and replied, "I love you because you're a nerd and you're awkward. And you're fun to tease."
I was not at all happy with that comment, but managed to pull off a calm face. "...You love me because I'm a nerd and I'm awkward?"
"Yeah, and you're fun to tease. You have an abnormal personality. You mean you haven't noticed?"
Hillary, who was standing nearby, heard all this and interrupted. "Bryce! That's mean!"
He stopped for a moment and considered. "Oh. I guess that could have been taken as an insult, huh?" No, Bryce, you think?
"Yes!" answered Hillary. "That was mean!"
"Well, I meant it as a compliment, honestly," Bryce retorted. Hillary glared. "Er... a back-handed compliment?"
I shook my head and left, with Hillary and Rachel in tow. Rachel immediately began her complaints. "Jenna, how do you do that? I turn my back on you for five seconds, and you're surrounded by twenty men!" Oh yeah, the button incident. I shrugged. I don't know, I wasn't really doing anything. Just looking for a button. And it doesn't even really do me any good, because my flirting skills are nonexistent. Whatever.
To be honest, Bryce's comment kind of bothered me, especially because it came from him. I'm awkward? I just have to wonder if it had ever occurred to him that knocking around asking for a girl to cuddle with -- any girl -- was actually VERY awkward. And that the general consensus in the female population is that such behavior is, indeed, awkward. No, probably not. He probably thinks that is a most clever thing to do.
But the reason such the comment really bothered me is because it kind of renewed my concern that my actions (or lack thereof) are being misinterpreted by the guys in my ward. I probably confuse them. And that's depressing. I don't regard physical affection as something you do casually with just anybody, or to be funny, or to use in flirting with a stranger, etc.
Someone explain this to me. How is this confusing?
I hug my friends, or people I'd like to be friends with. I don't cuddle with, or hold hands with, or let guys put their arm around me unless I am in a romantic relationship with them or I'm interested in establishing one. Really. I want to know. How is that confusing?
Because, see, I would have thought what a surprising amount of other people at BYU do would be much more confusing -- just holding hands and cuddling with any old person whether or not they're interested because it might be funny or because they just happen to think it'd be more comfortable that way (which it would be).
It's not that I think cuddling or holding hands in and of itself is awkward -- definitely not. I've always wanted to do so. Never have done so, but I want to. Really bad, actually. I mean, that's one of the ways in which I feel close to people, and therefore, it only makes sense that I be careful with it. I bond primarily through physical affection... the people who don't let me hug them are most often the ones I feel most distant from. The ones I get good hugs from are the ones I feel closest to.
I do, however, think it's awkward when the amount of physical affection people show towards each other does not accurately reflect the actual status of their relationship. So, no, Bryce. Don't put your arm around me. Don't caress me, don't cuddle me, don't. It's rather obvious you're not interesting in dating me (leastwise you shouldn't be; you've got a girlfriend) and I'm not interested in dating you. Stop pretending like we are dating.
Okay, I'll get off my soapbox now.
Have a good week and such,
Jenna Griffin
Friday, February 6, 2009
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.
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.
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