02.06.03 - 5:35 p.m.

I have to take a moment to thank Rita, the pagan goddess of parking spaces, for her divine intervention yesterday. I often stop at the dry cleaners on my way to work, and though I am careful to park in the metered spaces and not in the turning lane (as others do), I never put money in the meter. There are two slightly stupid reasons I don't: A) it's before 9 am and B) the meters only accept quarters, and I don't want to use up laundry money on an hour's worth of time when I'll only be inside for five minutes at the most.

You can see where this is going. Walking out the door of the cleaners, I spied the meter maid poinking my license plate into her little digital tablet. I hustled over, holding out my hand and saying, "It's ok, just give me the ticket, it's ok." And whether it was the fact that I didn't try to fight her or the look of resigned sadness on my face, I'll never know, but she replied, "I didn't say it was ok. I'm not going to give you a ticket," and started walking away from my car.

Relief! I thanked her profusely and pulled out of the space, being careful to signal (as I always do). Thank freakin God for whatever made her do that for me.

You know, fuck this. I have been doing this pointless cost report all day and it is fucking impossible. This is not the mindless administrative work I like to do when I don't feel like interviewing, writing or otherwise using my brain. I am taking this shit home and working it out over a plate of hot dogs and Must-Not-See TV.