09/03/2004 - 8:45 a.m. | about the terrible inequity in the world

Most things I can tolerate just fine, but I'll tell you what, having me be the one who does the majority of the parallel parking in this family is just a fucking ridiculous notion. I mean, let's put aside that, on average, .5 of my attempts at this hellish practice will be done early in the morning when I am, if not always hungover, at least very, very groggy and not in tip-top shape. Then we move on to the fact that I have the largest car of the four of us - longer than Spritz even (That's what she said) - so while others could theoretically slip in and out of tight spaces with their cute little cars with their amazing responsiveness and so forth. Meanwhile, I have to crank the wheel around like a psycho because sometimes power steering decides it's "not in the mood" to function this early. You and me both, brother. And, of course, we couldn't forget the most obvious flaw of this plan: That I have been genetically designed to be the worst parallel parker of all time. No depth perception, bitch! God was like, "OK, here's what he'll have: 1) The ability to never please a woman. 2) Worst parallel parkist in history!" So then I sit outside finnagling and manuever for fifteen minutes, occasionally getting out and looking sadly at home much room I could have if I could just bump Shelly's car a little this way or move Spritz's a little that, finally giving up to park up by Kyle's parents house because, yeah, that makes a fucking lot of sense. GIVE ME A SPARE KEY EACH PLEASE And no, this is not passive-aggession because if anyone was fucking here and awake, it would be plain-old aggression right now. Yelling and pushing stuff over and throwing vases against the wall. We don't even have vases; I'd buy some solely to toss them at the walls.

On the plus side, MERGENS just e-mailed me a happy birthday, so I suddenly feel all post-coital.