Thursday, October 14, 2010

Muses...

Sometimes I lie awake in bed at night and think about this stuff...

Entitlement: Why is it expected - yay, demanded - that I share what I have with you just because I'm a foreigner and I have it? Oh, wait... guess I just answered that one.

Klingons: When I asked you if you wanted a ride to Coco, I didn't mean you AND your entire extended family!

Theft: What's the point of stealing a lock and chain if the lock is secure and you don't have the key for it?

Twist-ties: I've watched many a gallant Tico caballero repair alambre (barbed wire) with the grace and methodology of a spider spinning its delicate web. But give one of these 'naco's a twist-tie and a bag of Bimbo bread, and it's as if they immediately become afflicted with palsy as a result of some sort of mild anurism that turns them into the bread's namesake. After repeated, contorted attempts at securing the bag, the twist tie inevitably ends up on the floor with the bag tied in a knot.

Whites: It never ceases to impress and amaze me how someone living in a pochote shack with dirt floors can get their hand-washed clothes so blindingly WHITE!!

Lids/Zip-locs: OK, so I get leaving the beans on the stove for a few days as long as they're heated up before going to bed at night and are covered. They get more delicious with each passing day and make a killer gallo pinto on their last. But what the hell is up with the inability to put a lid or plastic wrap on a container placed in the fridge, to screw on a cap or to zip a zip-loc?! Must all food odors be free to comingle in the sacred sepulcre of the ice box temple? Is it some sort of cult thing?

The Lost Generation: I've noticed that the kids of many parents who made money during the real estate boom (and subsequently blew it all on pick-up trucks, booze, shoes and hookers), and had a fleeting taste of what it was like to be "rich", still consider themselves above getting a job. [sic] Only poor people work. Well, look in the mirror, kid!

Dirt: Am I the only one who finds sweeping dirt a contradiction; the ultimate exercise in futility?

...and then I go to sleep. Buenas noches. Zzzzzzzzzzz.

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