Couch

I'm grouchy right now. I found my brother which is good, and I'm staying at his place, which is good because it's cheaper than a hotel, even a terrible hotel, but it's very very bad because Aaron and Jamie (fiancee) have this friend/business partner whose bedroom at some other condiminium place is getting remodeled or something for some indefinite period and who is sleeping in the second bedroom in my brother's condiminium, relegating me to the tiny, very uncomfortable couch in the living room, where, in addition to there being no comfort, there is no privacy and a mean little parrot that squawks a lot. (The parrot isn't actually that bad and has gotten used to me a little bit. She only bites a minimally and will get on my finger so I can take her wherever the people are.) Also, I hate where I'm staying because the terrible hotel, and the privacy it afforded, were in the real part of Puerto Vallarta with the little cobblestone streets and old buildings and nice little family run restaurants and farmacias and little liquor stores, instead of the Hotel Zone, with its ugly strip-mall kind of shops (which are probably family-run too, I admit) and lots of traffic and the MEGA supermarket next door and stupid fake Mexican colonial architecture. I might as well be in Los Angeles, except that a lot fewer people speak English. Stupid brother. Don't tell him I said anything. He's being nice.

Also I miss talking to people about things I want to talk about and they all have terrible taste in music. If I have to listen to the stupid-ass, 7-minute long reggae version of Stairway to Fucking Heaven one more time I will kill myself and I will take them all with me.

Gooder things have gone on too, but I will save them for a future post. A preview: Private beach, fireflies, the sound of a thousand crabs scurrying, a handful of fresh-caught, fresh-grilled fish from a cute bleach-haired Mexican surfer boy.