LIFE IS A BEACH!!!!!

SHOW ME THE BEACH!!! SHOW ME THE BEACH!!! I've spent the last week making countless trips, up and down the 405, transporting tons of useless stuff that we haven't seen, much less used, in over four years, perhaps longer. My poor little legs are worn out from carrying all that junk from the house to the car, from the car and up the stairs to the condo. No need for Golds gym this week. Where in the hell is the beach? I've been here a week and no beach. Sand on my walkway and sand on my porch and sand on my brand new wood floors, but no time for sand or water for me to make my little castles. Why did I move here, if I can't kick it at the beach? I'm supposed to be laid back and drinking pinas at the run down bars over on Washington. I should have been down there getting localized so I can start bad mouthing all the tourists from foreign places like Sweden, Germany, Iowa.

Last week I had a 180 degree view of the L.A. basin, and all the privacy in the world. No one to bother me, both of my neighbors were like 90 or something and too feeble to give a damn about what I'm doing. Like, right now I'm sharing a room with three hair shedding cats (I'm sneezing like a pig from the allergies), a washing machine that sounds like a fully loaded 747 on take off, and one window with blinds closed because I don't want the snoopy next door neighbor, who is 3 feet away, spying on me from his window which is directly across from me.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. I've built bathrooms that are bigger than this condo. I am mister humble pie right now, eating crow for all the bragging I've done about having my choice of living in the big, expansive houses that we've created over the years. I kept telling the wife, in a taunting sort of way: "maybe we ought to move into this one, eh dear?"Then I'd get her all hot on moving and then pull the rug out from under her: " Nah, I think the next one will be better, let's sell this one, I need the $$$$$ for little Jenny's braces or little Stephen's softball mitt or Mickey's soccer shoes". The laughs on me. Here I am holed up like pet frog in a shoe box.

But on the bright side, I can say we are going green. This place is so small that there is no big, carbon footprint here, no sir. Big Al and the GREENIES would be proud of me for saving a couple of ounces of the Polar Icecap from falling into the Arctic Ocean. I've probably saved a Polar Bear Cub from an ice bath this morning. No Cap and Trade penalties assigned to my living habits. I park my Hummer down the street so any neighbors can't point and spit at me from their little boxes across the way. I got to admit though, to my surprise, not many Priuses down this way. The Santa Monicans must have bought all of the available supply.

God how I want to just sit back now, read the paper, and relax and not feel guilty about it. But living with my beautiful, darling little wife, Sancy Antcy Pantcy, (not her real name), I sometimes (not real often) get a guilty conscience watching her do all of the work, putting away all of the stuff that I hauled over. I kind of regretted the other day when I complained about not having a clean coffee pot for the morning sete, because in her cute,dainty, little way, she was way off target when she threw the damn thing at me, (expletives deleted), with old coffee grinds and all. Luckily she missed and didn't make much of a mess for me to clean up.

Perhaps in the next few days, when the weather clears (calling for rain), I can finally find a few moments and make the 200' journey to waters edge and finally make this beach my turf and be localized. God that'd be nice, me and my TOMMY B's down by the water sucking on a cool one.
Dream on, Dream on.