I grimace. It's always a crusade, coming into the video store for certain material. First you nervously flit about the store, looking desperately for what you're there for. This continues until you realize that the anxiety of such said mission is really rather debilitating when it comes to your scouting capability, and you retreat up to the counter to ask. It's so peculiar, this endeavor; the behavioral nuances involved are encountered in only a few other situations: all taboo, awkward, and horribly embarrassing . It's just like having to ask the clerk to open the prophylactic case at the grocery store. You shakily approach the poor lad and softly mutter to him, although you know full well you'll end up repeating yourself 3 times and raising your voice to a dampened yell. It's okay though, because in the end you know you're getting laid, and the acne-ridden grocer forces you to yell out your request because his loathing is riddled with envy. With my scenario, however, it's just downright embarrassing.

I approach the counter.

"Hi."

"Hello." The word falls out of his overworked mouth like a half masticated lima bean slides down the face of a particularly lazy infant.

"I, uh, could you tell me, uh, is that the only section..." I hate feeling so counter productive. I clear my throat and frankly bark out the requisition. He starts to roll his eyes, but seems to notice the fact that my heel is tapping on the cheap tile and that my brows are skimming my mean, hard eyes.

"In the back, behind the comedy."

"Thank you."

Once I find the right stretch of space it doesn't take me long to find what I want. During the short period of time I take to debate and decide on the options that appeal to me a couple walks in.

(edited for content)

" Don't even feed me that bullcrap. I know exactly what you've been doing, Ha'erd (The man's name is Howard, but we're in Kentucky. His name is pronounced Ha'erd) Don't you DARE lie to me."

Naturally I let my eyebrows twist up in incredibility and glance towards the door. The woman is in tears with blue mascara smeared all over her face. The man is openly frustrated. She thinks he cheated on her. Clearly they thought they'd make the best of their time and rent a video while they hurled crass insults at one another.

"Dammit, Gina, stop hassling me, you scheemin' little skank. You knows I ain't been foolin' around on ya."

Other than the marriage-ending conversation they're in the middle of, their movements seem somewhat calm. They walk around the store, finding time between accusations to explain to the other why she really didn't want to see "The Hours". She continued to sob. He continued to huff. They both continued on their search for the perfect rental.

They end up in line right behind of me, still screaming. I am grateful for this when the time comes for me to place what I can't believe I'm going to watch on the counter. The clerk doesn't say anything. Between my trash and the couple's shrieking, his confidence in mankind has been whittled down to a small smidgeon about the size of a paperclip.

"You dog, Ha'erd, you filthy DOG! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO THAT ON MY BRAN' NEW SOFA!"

I turn around and shoot a completely disgusted look at them.

"Watchu lookin' at?" Ha'erd asks aggressively.

Please, I think. I have so much ammo against you hicks that I wouldn't know what to do with it. I look down at my three rentals and suddenly decide against it. I pick up my Sex and the City and walk out the door.

Come all ye lost
dive into moss
I hope that my sanity covers the cost
to remove the stain of my love,
paper maché,
come all ye reborn
blow off my horn
I'm driving real hard
this is love, this is porn
God would forgive me
but I whip myself scorn.
I want to hear what you have to say about me,
hear if you're going to live without me,
hear what you want
I remember december.
and I want to hear what you have to say about me
hear if you're going to live without me
I want to hear what you want
what the hell do you want?

-Second half of "I remember" by Damien Rice.

In 5 days time I will be in the sky, flying back towards city I so desperately fled 4 months ago. My previous visit returned me happy to be back in my new home, but now I think it's been long enough to actually feel like a visit. I'm excited; I'm excited to see people, to embrace the things I love about Utah and stay just long enough to get sick of the place and go home.

I look forward to the following:


I complain about Salt Lake's climate all the time. All the time. It's simply too dry for me, not to mention completely manic. The winters are beautiful but extreme and bitter, and I get sick of the snow after the cheap thrill of the first snowfall fades after approximately three days of slushing about in it. The summer is dry and hot. Spring is nonexistent. Regardless, It is beautiful. The desert has that barren beauty that shines bluntly on the mountain flower, and resiliently through the sun that blazes towards the horizon. I'd like to think that I appreciate the desert, I simply just don't care to live in it. 2 weeks is plenty long enough to behold all this desiccated charm, appreciate it, and leave it.

Cafe D'bolla. Tasty.

I really am excited to see mum and Rick and everybody else. I miss Elisse, and I'm excited to see all the people I never call. Including the dog. I haven't thought about Roo in a long time, and I'm sure he's in need of a good bath.

I don't have to work for two weeks. Huzzah, huzzah indeed.

The household I currently live in is one of decency and honesty. Beer drinking prevails but stealing music is prohibited and frowned upon. In my lovely dwelling in Salt Lake, however, kazaa is mine. As is any musical morsel that tickles my fancy, from Vivaldi to Funky town. Note: This is not to say pirating is allowed, by any means. It just happens, kind of like stop-sign running happens in Kentucky. I'd like to look upon myself and see a good driver, but when in Rome, one must accept the culture and run the freaking stop signs. California rolling stops are bad. Full on Kentucky runs, however, are to be expected.

I'm going to go ahead and give the dog his own bullet. He deserves as much. Yes, I miss Roo.

I dread the following:


Fighting with my mother. We've been on fabulous terms for the longest time, but that doesn't change the fact that I do try and be a realistic person from time to time.

Bathing the dog. Regardless of what I have planned, I'll see that cute dog and realize that he doesn't deserve to be a walking, barking dust mop. I will desperately try to clean him as he bounces about the tub, give up, and let him emerge dirty as ever. This will happen about 6 times.

Summoning up excuses, apologies, and defenses as I see the people I haven't talked to since I was last in Utah.

My mother is so gracious as to offer the use of Freddy the Ford Taurus so that I might have a car while I'm there. I will most definitely take her up on her hospitality, but I'm not looking forward to the day the transmission falls out of the car, the radiator spontaneously combusts into smelly wisps of green smoke, and the discovery is made that the car has been missing a water pump since 1997.

I will be dealing with the Mormons in mass again. I've found the lack thereof in Cincinnati to be rather refreshing.

Before I land in Utah I will be stopping in Chicago and Denver. That is a whole lot of traveling. 11 hours, to be exact.

All in all, however, I am await my triumphant return with anticipation. I plan to be prepared and fabulous, ready to have an absolutely corking visit. Just think of the misadventures that await me.

Note to self:

Ortho Appt at 1:00 PM on Thursday, May 12.