Read all about the irony (I think -- never sure what's technically "ironic") of my stupid day in reader-like detached wonderment and awe…

Once I left the conveniences of the Midwest for the sassy flash of the West Coast, one of the first amenities to go (right after friendliness and fresh air) was convenient parking. Having had parking lots for every apartment I’d lived in to suddenly be forced to fight for a spot on the side of a busy street near(ish) my apartment was a bit of culture shock. Equally not awesome was the lack of ample parting at most businesses (stores, restaurants, and whatnot and what have you). The one plus to this is after over a decade of driving, I’ve suddenly become a decent parallel parker in my two years of SoCal living.

At my current humble apartment, there’s usually a space or two along the sides of the boulevard of our block. Some of them are metered, which only comes into play on Saturdays (Monday – Friday the car’s at my work, Sunday the meters rest). Last night, Friday, m’lady and I got home to find the only open spot was a dreaded meter. No worry, though, as the lady needed to run an early morning errand and would move it before the soulless meter maid came around at 9:00 a.m. sharp with tickets of heartless money thievery for reasons difficult to understand unless one understands the greed of a soulless bureaucracy, which requires one’s lacking of a soul, which is a sorry state indeed and one best not to dwell upon.

Sometimes, after a mediocre to poor night’s sleep, though, plans can change. The lady friend decided not to run that morning errand, so she made some breakfast for us, I brewed a pot of coffee, and we chilled. After inhalation of food, I checked my email and wondered if I’d be rightly judged for snagging some morning booze to wash down my egg sando. Deciding against it as my g-friend was picked up by a pal for some girl time or whatever, I went back to my not being productive.

That was when I noted it was 11:00 a.m… TWO HOURS AFTER WE SHOULD’VE MOVED THE CAR! I quickly took off my nose pore strip, tore the curlers out of my hair, and hurtled myself to our car, visions of a big, fat fucking ticket awaiting me on the dirty, smashed bug laden windshield. But, lo and behold, it was sans ticket. Having arguably never experienced good luck before, I simply moved the car, as confused as I was relieved, and distressingly sans pants.

Later in the day, my apparently far-busier-than-I woman had to get to an appointment on the other side of town -- near one of the best comic shops in all of the land, Golden Apple. My normal shop, Hi De Ho, is no slouch, but it can be fun to check out different shops now and again. But! Hi De Ho is kind enough to give me a 15% discount. Often saving me upwards of a buck twenty-five to two dollars per visit, I chose to be loyal, sneaking out for a quick comic fix before going on the across town adventure as the boyfriend tag along.

One of the best features of Hi De Ho, aside from its location near my apartment and the too-kind discount, used to be that it was that it was the rarest of LA area rarities -- a place of business with ample parking! This changed for the worse recently, however, when some snooty salon opened up next to it and laid claim to over half of Hi De Ho’s spots with the threat of towing to any comic nerds who dared to park in them.

Of course, there was no Hi De Ho spot in the lot, which is often the case now, sending me looking for a damned meter. Luckily, I found one nearby and then commenced with the comic buying fun. I was on a time limit, which was fine; as I’d find less to by with the money I shouldn’t spend on comics. Perusing the store I discovered, to my initial dismay, they were out of a couple new books I’d planned on buying. But I chose to take it in stride. These were comics I’d been thinking of dropping to save some dough, so, it was with a tinge of regret that I decided to take the store’s lack of them as a sign to stop buying the titles all together. It’d be best in the long run for me to pay my bills instead, anyway.

Though I kind of wanted to visit Golden Apple for the change of pace, I walked back to my car feeling okay about my decision to stick with my more local comic shop. The staff at Hi De Ho has become familiar, plus it’s so darn close, and gives me that sexy, sexy glamorous discount. We’ve never discussed making it exclusive, but I’m monogamous by nature, so all was well. Plus, as I noted examining my receipt whilst strolling down the sidewalk, I’d saved upwards of two bucks, which made me feel both loved by my comic book solicitors and frugal when I considered I’d just also dropped two books, saving me even more in that long run I’m always thinking about. If I’d gone to Golden Apple, I wouldn’t have gotten the discount, and if they’d had those two issues Hi De Ho had sold out of, I’d likely have bought them. This would’ve resulted in my spending as much as eight dollars more than I did, and my being very likely to continue buying those two titles for who knows how long. Some decent reading, but too much money down the comic drain! I smiled, feeling like I’d made the right choice for maybe the third time in my life.

That was when I reached my car to find a parking ticket on it. Seems I’d forgotten to pay the goddamnmotherfuckingsonofabitchassholeshitassbitch meter in my haste to buy comics at a discounted price! A pocket AND ashtray full of change, and I’d just spaced on it for the first time EVER. Was this karma for the ticket I should’ve gotten this morning?

Bitter, I snagged the $35 (!) ticket for my twenty minutes of parking and headed home, suddenly not giving a hop scotching fuck about comic shop loyalty or world peace or the starving children or disease or the inexplicable success of Jay Leno or the threat of nuclear war or a paltry 15% discount on my comics that I can’t afford anyway.