Parking Assignments

March 8 was my puppy, Dash's eleventh birthday. To say the least, I was really excited about my old man getting more and more "refined." Dash is an incredibly grumpy boy, but I love him to death. He is just the best. I celebrated with him by eating popcorn and watching television.

Basically to him, it was like a normal day.

Still, I was really happy about him making it this far in life without actually looking all that old. Some dogs, like Cooper, really show their age. But my beautiful boy seems ageless. Unless you shine LED light on him. Then all his grey hair gets weirdly tinted and you can tell he is older that how he acts.

Such is a dog's life.

In other news, (and I may have harped on this before) but there was this bitchy ass lady who lived in the building ahead of my own. I am not just saying she was a bitch for lack of reason.

See, in my complex, there are some assigned parking spaces, as I can imagine there are in every complex. Everyone gets one assigned space, and if there are two cars, the second car must simply fend for itself.

My assigned parking space is up by the dumpster, so I don't use it. Adam's dad "contracts" it out to this guy with a creepy child molester van, so he makes a little money on the spot. It doesn't bother me. What does bother me, though, is this bitch lady.

See, I was parking in a spot that was not allocated to a specific condo/apartment. It had at one point been labeled as reserved parking, but had since been painted over, and the reserved parking space moved. It was no a big deal. Everyone used these other spots across from the reserved spots, randomly and without trouble. There was no official spot for anyone's car, it was just first come, first served.

And then Bitch moved in.

Like I pointed out, her "reserved" space had been moved. Up the hill. It was CLEARLY marked. No one used that spot. It was labeled as reserved. All of the other spots were CLEARLY not marked with "reserved" and were thus used by whoever needed them.

So I had parked my car in one of the painted over "reserved" spots, and for a while, it wasn't an issue.

Until one morning, I came out to head to work.

And Bitch was just standing there, looking at my little, slightly beat up Elantra. At first, I was worried that I had a flat tire or something. No one stares at other people's cars without reason.

But no, there was no flat tire. No damage, no nothing. Bitch just wanted to accuse me.

"You are in my spot."

"Morning," I replied, already annoyed.

"You are in my spot." I stopped. I looked down. I pointed with my finger.

"No. I am not. Your 'spot' is up there. Where is says 'reserved.'" She made a huge, disgusted face at me and huffed off. Her car was exactly one space over, on the other side of the diagonal yellow lines. She had to walk around her car to get to the stairs. Since that was obviously TOO much for her type 2 diabetes body, she took everything one step too far.

She had the real-estate company move the god-damned paint job.

So now I, and everyone else in the complex, was left with two unusable spots nearest to our homes.

Well, this has obviously made me incredibly angry.

But what makes me angrier is this: THE BITCH MOVED.

I am so pissed I could scream. Or go hunting, shoot a deer, hang it in a tree, clean the carcass, and make jerky to eat for next winter. 

The latter seems like a far better way to express my anger.