The Double You. Vi. See.
Posted By startswithanx on December 29, 2009
When I first moved to Vegas my trips back home to Utah were so frequent I wasn’t giving anyone a chance to miss me. I’d hop on a plane or jump in my car and zoom to Clair’s as fast as I could (four hours is my record) for no reason at all. It was kind of like preventative health care for home sickness. And it worked. Until the drive lost its luster and the TSA banned most my beauty products from getting carried on. Then I let go of my rolling luggage, took a look around and stopped my eyes on a guy named Jake. From there, the trips to West Valley City, or The WVC as I like to call my hometown, lessened in frequency and shortened in duration.
What I’m trying to say is, Jake is tearing my family apart.
But for real, I realized that it’s been too damn long since I made a trip back home that lasted more than two drunken nights (read: Venus’ birthday weekend) during this trip back home that lasted more than two drunken nights. It hit me a few times.
First, when I fell in love with the six-hour road trip it took to get there. Not only did I sing each and every one of the songs on these albums at the top of my lungs the ENTIRE WAY THERE, but I remembered mine and Melaina’s master plan for road trips that never got executed. After several trips back and forth to Vegas, us two single-and-ready-to-mingle girls (you have to say that like you’re holding a martini) decided we’d make signs the next time we traveled. Whoever sat passenger would hold them up while the driver laid on the horn. Messages like “ONLY FAST CARS BELONG IN THE FAST LANE” and “SHOW US YOUR TITS” would surely make for a better drive.
But falling in love with the actual road trip is nothing compared to the nostalgia that poured over me with every turn I made driving through the city I grew up in. Hey, there’s the power line pole I plowed into with Harriet’s car when I was 17 after hitting black ice. Oh look, that’s the burrito joint where all the Mexican workers mad-dogged Flav, my black boyfriend who walked in there a little too proudly with yours truly on his arm. What do ya know, there are those quaint little project houses I wanted to move into before realizing they were project houses. Oh, and who was the asshole who decided to turn that waterslide into a fitness center before I ever got a chance to slither down it? Hah! See if I ever invite him to Vegas.
It was like someone flipped on the slide projector to my life and set it against the blue collar neighborhoods of The WVC. Slide! There go the adolescent years. Slide! Look at puberty. Slide! Hey, the booty calls days weren’t as bad as I remember them. Slide! Oh wait, yes they were.
Just before my reminiscent daze had me longing for scrunchies and E.N.U.F. sweatshirts, Jake sharpened the nearest needle and aimed it right at my shiny, big bubble.
Me: (With joy in my eyes and glee in my soul) Hey, wanna go to Valley Fair Mall and do donuts in the parking lot?
Jake: (Without joy in his eyes or glee in his soul) Yeah, that’s not cliche. What is this, a cheesy romantic comedy and I’m the guy stuck in it? You really want to go do donuts at the mall of your hometown with your boyfriend?
POP!!!!
Everyone has their tipping point. Good to know Jake draws the line with donuts at Valley Fair Mall.
** Check out my next post to find out what made us discover it’s a damn good thing Penny is fixed.
uh, yeah you need to make more road trips! and i think i may have to take some as well….me and harry that is. u know penny can’t wait.
WVC Loves it when you two visit~
Sorry I am responsible for bursting your nostalgia bubble when we were at your home. That sucks. And I apologize. Next time we’re doing donuts FO SHO! But you should feel lucky that mom, dad, siblings and cousins are only a 6-hour drive away. Yes, that’s 6 hours, folks. X must have been driving 100 or more the entire way during that record performance. Some people only get to see their immediate family twice a year and their cousins every five years. Feel lucky because you are.
Jake you know I’m giving you shit. That’s what this blog is largely about: giving you shit.
I don’t care about the donuts in the parking lot. Apparently I only care about real donuts, since I gained FOUR POUNDS over my week-long visit! Yeesh!
Oh, and what cousins? They’re another eight hours away in Idaho. Wait’ll we make THAT trip!
OMG! I just realized Jake hasn’t met the extended family yet. There is a big event coming up this Summer (40 Year Wedding Anniversary) so 2010 just might be the year.
But were you driving a bitchin’ Camero when you attempted the donuts???
I think doing donuts in the parking lot is fun.
X at one point didn’t we actually do donuts in a Bitchin Camaro??? ; ) YEEEHAW!!!
I love long familiar drives. I’m glad you enjoyed yours. And I actually owned a book that was meant to be used like your signs. It was full of all sorts of things… must have been fifty different signs in it, and you’d flip it to the page, and the book came with a handle, and you’d wave it at your target. Sofunny.
X, I’ll do donuts with you anytime.