February 23, 2006 @ 12:22 a.m.
Tow Away Zone

Street parking is woefully limited in my complex, and, as a result of hundreds of complaints, the neighborhood association purchased eight parking spots in the parking lot of a supermarket, near the main entrance.

The spots are intended for guests, and there are signs warning any outsiders that the spots are intended for visitors of blah, blah blah.

I take great pleasure in referring to these reserved spots as G-Spots, because in addition to the sign there is a gigantic orange G painted between the yellow lines.

On the rare occasion that someone decides to brave the wilds of Staten Island in order to visit us, I use every opportunity possible to plop �G-Spot� in the middle of a sentence.

Some get it right away, others don't.

Take last night, for example

Evil: Why, friend, where did you park?
Friend: In the guest parking
Evil: Are you sure you parked in a G-spot?
Friend: Yeah, your mom helped me.
Evil: My mother helped you find the g-spot?
Friend: Yeah, she�s really great.

Man, shit like that kills me every single time.

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