Ouch.

Just paid a round of bills, and it was painful. The usuals (student loans, Express bill, credit card) didn't cause so much pain, as did the parking tickets. I've been paying parking tickets such regularity about $80 should be automatically deducted on a monthly basis. It's so regular the DMV homepage is bookmarked on my computer. I can hear my dad now, who drives 25 mph after an accident at a stop sign fiver years ago, "gotta learn the hard way?" Ouch. Sigh.

It wasn't always like this. I long for the days when you could park in the middle of the street, run into McDonalds for a quarter pounder, and not get towed. Two hour parking was a joke, and meters were decoration, a suggestion that we had a parking
system.

Now I can't get 15 minutes on an expired middle meter on New Jersey avenue without a pink ticket from--yes, I'm calling you out and possibly setting myself up for being towed--Wright K., Ashe M., and Banks, M. 10:30 pm on Wednesday night in Adams-Morgan (with parking as available as internet service in rural Benin) tickets galore! Like flyers to a concert, nearly one in each desperate driver's window. Geez, have some compassion!

Please Parking Meter attendants, I beg you. Leave Speedy-speedy alone. She's got enough bumps, bruises, dents and hickeys. No need for the garish pink scab, a Scarlet Letter for my irresponsible parking habits, on the windshield. It's traumatizing. Everyday, I tremble and trip en route to my car, destabilized by the prospect of a ticket.

A few months ago, I committed myself to better parking habits, and celebrate each day I don't get ticketed like alcoholics celebrate sobriety. Day by day, one day at a time. Sometimes I falter, like today, and sometimes I'm successful, like Saturdays and Sundays.

Anyone interested in contributing to the Ciudad Public Works fund, hit me on the comments. It's not tax-deductible, but I will give you a shout on the next blog.