A Snapshot Of Ken

SML and I went to Lagoon on Sunday with my sisters and their kids and ended up on the new roller coaster Wicked three times. There’s something about being blasted off at fifty-five miles per hour that really makes me giggle. My brother in law commented that Lagoon is built like someone was playing Roller Coaster Tycoon; and if you ever played that game, you’d know how true that is when you notice the random fountains and flower beds.

Towards the end of the day SML and I got into a small argument because I want to go to Hawaii. When I re-read that sentence I realized it sounds somewhat crazy, but we have an opportunity to go for a week in December and not pay a fortune for it. But since SML is applying for school and may have to do interviewing at that time, we can’t go. And when faced with that sort of realization I wanted more than anything to call SML a fart head.

My maturity is gradually growing, so when I’m forty I expect to be reasonably minded and very bald. I didn’t speak to SML for a good fifteen minutes because I couldn’t muster enough gumption to apologize for acting like someone who’s just lost every ounce of sanity. I can’t really describe what I was feeling because the only word that comes to mind is desperate. SML’s new schedule, and especially his upcoming school schedule, is leaving me feeling particularly starved for attention.

And I do realize how clingy I sound. And I expect to grow out of this feeling very soon, but it has been hard to go from a pluvial relationship to something nearly drought-like. I figure it’s really a matter of organizing time, I’m just not sure there’s a Mac App out there for that.

At some point when I was living in Clearfield, I decided to meet someone from “THE INTERNET”. As time has gone on, I think the people on the Internet have gotten scarier; and maybe even nastier. I remember when the Internet used to be fun; when you’d log on to America Online after waiting an hour for something other than a busy signal, and then feel your pulse quicken after hearing “You’ve Got Mail.” Now whenever I have new e-mail I only hear a quick beep. Afterwards, I feel like cutting my wrists because that piece of mail just might be from my former bishop that found my website googling for “tightie whities”.

Since the Internet Dude lived south of Salt Lake City, I figured he could come over and we’d watch a movie together; a scary movie about the danger’s of chartrooms. And maybe we’d even live happily ever after together. Maybe. Until I asked him what the word ‘quasi’ meant. I said something like, “What does that word mean? My roommate says it all the time about his boyfriend, but I can’t tell if he’s saying ‘quasi’ or ‘cross-eyed’.” And I said it while I was curling my blonde locks using my index finger. And I had bubble-gum.

Internet Dude looked at me as though I had just committed the worst sin ever. He took a couple of deep breaths before he said, “It’s an INTELLIGENT way of saying ‘sort of’…” He excused himself a couple of moments later after I had the chance to laugh out of my nostrils and pretend that it was totally normal for people in Davis County to not have a vocabulary.

No big deal, right? I wouldn’t see him again because he lived south of Salt Lake City. WE WERE SO FAR AWAY. The chance was minimal that I’d ever see him at the grocery store or flipping me off on I-15. And if he told his friends how stupid I was, I could hope that my look-a-like, Kip, would take the blame.

Now that I’m living in Salt Lake City, I run into my ‘quasi-date’ ALL OF THE TIME. He’s everywhere. And he’s in MY smith’s grocery store; remembering how much of my brain has been dissolved by the stench coming from the Great Salt Lake.

This calls for a bah-humbug; and a cheeseburger at McDonald’s.

My cousin’s invitation got me thinking about relationships, and how they’re maybe even a bigger deal than I previously thought. Before when I got invitations in the mail, I’d scoff and mention to someone that they’d probably get divorced. Now, I think about how brave the couple is for embarking on what might be a never-ending trial.

Months ago, I was listening to Dr. Laura when a wife called in complaining that she and her husband didn’t share a checking account. Her husband wanted to keep things separated since they were still receiving monies from his parents (don’t ask me how THAT is normal), and didn’t want to “confuse” things. The wife on the other hand, considered their marriage a partnership and should instead share a checking account the way that they should actually be sharing their lives. Instead of splitting the rent or the groceries, they’d pay the bills out of the same account.

After I heard the caller, I thought how funny it seemed that they weren’t sharing a checking account. I thought all married people shared a checking account; isn’t that the normal thing to do? Wouldn’t sharing a checking account be a good way to show or prove that you’re committed?

Since I was dating Gabe at the time, I told him about the call expecting him to think the same way I did; but he didn’t. When he asked me why I thought it was necessary, I made a joke and said, “If we shared a checking account, it would be harder for you to break up with me.” He didn’t laugh.

Even though I dropped the issue previously with Gabe, I’m still siding with the Wife.

Around 10:00 o’clock, I laid down next to Gabe. The only sounds that were being made were from the Simpsons television show on Fox 13. I finally broke the silence by tapping Gabe on the shoulder, asking “what’s wrong?” He answered, “I don’t know.”

Maybe it’s the Dr. Laura in me, but that answer just wasn’t enough. I asked again, “What’s wrong? You’re grumpy all of the time…” and I was met with the same answer. So I asked, “What can I do?” and got the same answer. So I wished him luck, and slept on the couch.

This week has been awful. Gabe used to smile. Used to.