Open House… ish

Driving home from work in Los Angeles traffic can generally be categorized as a nightmare, which is why I decided early on to find path less traveled. When I first started this job in Beverly Hills, twenty miles from my home in the valley, I started asking people for tips and tricks on beating traffic. Over several months I would try different routes testing to see which would suit me best. The route I now drive daily isn’t exactly a straight path, but the traffic is light and the scenery is beautiful. Along that beautiful route is a home that I have decided simply must be mine. As you can see in the picture below it is no tiny shack.

Every afternoon as I drive home I see that house. I almost study it. I could draw in my sleep the multi-story windows, the chair lined deck and the set of garage doors. It was this meticulous knowledge that would have easily gotten me in trouble had it not been for the fact that I live alone.

Several months ago I was practicing my late-night ritual browsing through television channels at light speed. My inability to remain on any one channel for more then 10 – 15 seconds has gained me notoriety in my family and I’m grateful that I am finally master of my own remote control. As I was mastering my remote that night (that just doesn’t sound proper…) I clicked to pretty brunette pulling her car up into a driveway. It was a tight shot. You couldn’t see any more than half the car and just a few feet of the home she was pulling up to. Those few feet were enough. I knew those garage doors! That was MY house! I was thrilled. Pathetically so. I watched as she sat in her car, silently pleading with her to go inside so I could finally see the inside of my future mansion. She must have heard my prayer because finally she stopped fiddling around and went inside.

As expected the inside was more a museum than a home, but I simply cannot bring myself to look at that as a drawback. The character started walking from room to room doing heaven-only-knows-what and I could hardly contain my glee at this complimentary sneak peek. I started picking out the things I would change, the things that were perfect. But then this character, whom I hadn’t paid much attention to, was suddenly talking to a girl on the deck. I didn’t recognize this deck as the one I drove past every day. It seemed as if I’d memorized every inch that was visible to the naked eye while traveling that road. How could I have missed a deck like that?? Was I *gasp* wrong? Was this not, in fact, my dream house? I couldn’t bring myself to believe that I didn’t know my own Barbie Dreamhouse so I started looking for one clue that would without a doubt confirm that this was indeed my house.

Just north-east of my dreamhouse stands another home at the top of an adjacent hill. It is obnoxiously red, but unmistakably so. If I could just get that stupid cameraman to pan right then I would have my proof. If the house stood in the distance then I had been seeing my very own dreamhouse… complete with hidden deck! If it wasn’t there then I just needed to get a life. The stupid woman was still talking to the other stupid woman as I was yelling at the tv to just freaking pan right. Only for a second! Then the inevitable happened. Cue the music! The women stripped, hopped into the hot tub and started to get it on. This is where I’m thankful that I live alone. Softcore music and fake orgasms were not going to get in the way of my confirmation. This cameraman was going to pan right dammit or I’d see to it he was fired!! Or, at the very least, I would throw my remote at the television and pray that he felt it.

On and on these women went moaning and groaning in softcore’s pathetically unrealistic trademark fashion. As if it would really help anything, I kept straining my neck hoping to gain just one. more. inch. Dammit. That stupid cameraman had no intention of doing anything more than teasing me. I had been defeated when suddenly… HE PANNED RIGHT!! YES! The red house was in the background!! I jumped up, did my victory dance (complete with custom victory song) across the living room floor and collapsed back onto my couch more satisfied than either of those hot tub bimbettes.