I need to talk about how yesterday on our drive home from San Diego, Brad had to pee.

I mean he almost always has to pee on long car rides. I'm not sure that I can think of a recent semi-long car ride where he didn't frantically search for a place to pee (usually behind a bush or on a wall behind a CVS or something). We were caught in some traffic in the stretch of north county San Diego, somewhere between Camp Pendleton and San Clemente. He chose to just get off at the next exit, and after getting nearly side-swiped by a car using the shoulder as its own lane and speeding in front of us, we pulled off just in time to see not one, not two, not three, but at least half a dozen men peeing on the fence of Camp Pendleton. Like, the Marine base. Like where our military lives and trains. Like... the armed forces. Grown men. Peeing outside the gates. I saw so many penises... and urine being expelled from them. In broad daylight? Onto the gates of our nation's armed forces?

There were so many people pulled over and peeing here, there, and everywhere that Brad actually couldn't find a place to park his car. So we did an illegal U-turn, got back on the freeway, crawled our way to the next exit where we found a Carl's Junior. He then had to fill the car up with gas, and our only option was the most poorly-designed gas station in all of the world where we were forced to drive on the sidwalk in order to get back onto the main road, because a retarded woman in a BMW chose to take two pump stations while her husband, presumably keeper of the car keys, went inside to take the world's longest shit, and the gas station was one-way and some other BMW pulled behind us and boxed us in.

To reiterate, I saw half a dozen penises and then we drove on a sidewalk because an Asian man was pooping. OH, BY THE WAY: NOT JOKING.

I am going to title the book I’ll never write I Grew Up in Upper Middle Class L.A. and It is the Least of my Problems; My Life in 20 Chapters.