What I was GOING to say was...

I was going to write about what I did this weekend. How Friday night, P.I.C. and I went to the Nuggets game then wandered down to the Celtic Tavern to watch the remaining March Madness games. How Saturday morning we went to Starbucks to fuel up before heading down to watch the people desperate for their 15 minutes of fame wait in line to audition to be on the next “Apprentice”. I had it all figured out – how I was going to talk about the 6’7” guy in a cowboy hat and full-length fur coat who, as we walked by, was being interviewed for the news and how he said “I’m the biggest Apprentice yet” and how I feigned a HORRIBLE coughing fit to cover up the laughter and how we had to walk a good block before we were out of earshot and we looked at each other and lost it. Then I was going to tell you about how we doubled back around the block and watched the line of people go into the building and commented on who had the biggest air of desperation and who was willing to sleep with anyone just to get on the show. I wanted to go in, but P.I.C. said no, that would look like we were mocking them, and I said but we ARE and he said yes, but they don’t need to know that. So we went to breakfast instead.

I could then talk about how I was at Sally & Joe’s later, sunning myself on their patio and then drinking wine and having dinner and all of the funny anecdotes from that. I could talk about the book I finished this weekend, or I could talk about the nap I took yesterday with my bedroom window wide open because it was 70 degrees outside.

I would probably finish the weekend recap with some sort of “oh my god, how awesome is it that Tony Soprano is out of the coma and is going to be back to normal Tony next week?” And then I could maybe talk about how P.I.C grilled delicious salmon and we had a spinach salad and after we watched “The Sopranos” and “Big Love” we were going to watch some “Arrested Development” before I went home.

I would have said all that, only then? I looked out the window and I said “Where the fuck is my car?”

See, P.I.C. lives downtown, and the bottom floor of his building is leased to who I will now refer to as Dr. Prick. Dr. Prick has reserved parking spaces that I park in when I’m there in the evenings and on weekends because, really, how many patients will he be having at 7 p.m. on a Sunday? I am there ALL THE TIME and have yet to see a patient parked there. BECAUSE IT'S NIGHTTIME. Well, this evening, Dr. Prick had me towed. Yes, I realize that there is an Avalanche game tonight and that he might want to discourage people from parking there for free and walking across the street to the Pepsi Center for the game. However, clearly he was there this evening, and if he was paying any attention AT ALL, he would have seen that I was not going to the Avs game. I was carrying groceries and I keyed in the code to unlock the building doors – I didn’t walk out of the lot and across the street. ASS.

So P.I.C. called the tow company (closed, of course) and he called the police to make sure that the car was indeed towed and not stolen (not stolen) and we went to the tow yard and there was my little car being guarded diligently by rottweilers. I took P.I.C.’s car home. Which was fine, because I like his car -- it's fast. Although since he's reading this, I will say that even though I really wanted to fly down 6th Avenue, I did not. But I wanted to. I didn't. But I wanted to. Anyway.

What did we learn from this? Dr. Prick? On my list – and not the good one. The sign at the tow yard that says “Beware of Dog”? Not just an idle threat. And most importantly? Apparently this means I’m going to have to learn to parallel park. Dammit.