Most days we keep the windows in the house open. If every window in the house isn't cracked, the temperature in the house would immedietly bring the silverware to its melting point. There happens to be a window in the bathroom, located directly above the toilet. This, like every other in the house, is open.
The houses in this neighborhood are so closely set together that I could reach through my window and shake Pedro's hand in the next house over as he sits in his livingroom watching Telemundo. Most times, the open window in the bathroom causes no problems. But there is, on occasion, the awkward moment. This morning for instance as I'm taking a long, satisfying pee; I happen to slowly glance over my shoulder. A woman is in her house, doing some dishes, and kindly smiles at me and nods her head as I stand there taking a leak. Not knowing the layout of my house, does she know I'm in the bathroom? Does she know she's staring at a complete stranger as he takes a piss? Trying not to sprinkly urine on myself, I raise my hand up and casually wave, accompanied by a forced and awkward smile. Once she re-focuses on her dirty dishes, I slowly slide the window shut and flush.
This afternoon I decided to get my car washed. I haven't washed it since my arrival in town. Because I have no pride, the entire front of the car is an insect graveyard; and has remained so for two weeks. Looking like some low-budget paint job, every square inch of blue on the front third of my car has been replaced with various shades of green and yellow. It's so hideous in it's blatent lack of respect for life, it would cause a buddhist to instantly burst into tears upon viewing it. I actually considered contacting the local entomology department and invite them to study my car. For a small fee, of course. What a rare and exciting opportunity for them!
I took it to the local Arco gas station to take a run through their top-of-the-line car wash. It proceeded to covered my car with a few soapy bubbles and washed that off with a light mist. No brushes. No scrubbing. Just a sprinkle of water and sent me on my way. All it did was merely wet the blanket of insects, leaving them to further encrust on my grill in the california sun. I would have been better off with a blind, mildy retarded homless man spritzing my car with a bottle of windex.
I'm watching Angelina Jolie being interviewed on the Daily Show right now. All they can talk about is how incredibly hot she is. I never have understood her appeal. She looks like a man in drag with water-wings for lips. I wouldn't have sex with her, but if I were drowning in the ocean I'd be happy to have her as a swimming parter. I could use her mouth as a flotation device and her jaw-line as a board to surf back to shore.
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