I got a note from the property manager about a “parking situation” that had developed between myself and a neighbor at the apartment complex. They, evidently, complained to Adam The Manager that I clearly had no regard to their concerns in lieu of their inability to park.

As is now, my caliber is parked in front of my roommate’s motorcycle which is, in turn, chained to the post supporting the covered stalls. It was put there because some moron failed in their attempt to steal it (and destroyed the ignition in the process). Thus my car is acting as a sort of barrier between the bike and certain doom. A self-importance thing, I’m sure you can understand.

Because of this parking situation, my caliber sticks out of the stall equal to the width of the bike. 1.5 feet, max? Thus causing aforementioned neighbor to try extra hard to park in their stall at the very end of the complex. Evidently, my problem.

As I was told many times by the neighbor in my conversation to find resolution, Hawaii is a no-fault state. So if she hits my car, I have to pay for it. Conversely, if she hits my car, she’ll have to pay for hers.

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And it pains me to admit this: when told that fact three times, the only thought that ran though my head was “And?” I mean really. The most logical conclusion would be, “Then don’t hit my car.”

Then, of course, if you wanted to get into it then we can get into a demolition durby and find out who cares about their car the most. I also admit that particular thought brought me much personal enjoyment. My ding can very easily equal your lack of a side mirror. Which would probably turn into a door-shaped dent on my passenger side… which equates (in case you were wondering) to fender benders on both the front and rear of your vehicle where I proceed to back into you and the car being sandwiched between my bumper and the support beam I mentioned 4 paragraphs ago. Of course, this is if I don’t decide to push it on down the embankment into your house.

No-fault, right?

… I digress.
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She kept referring to my facial expression in which she described as “pissed.” Which, although not too far from the truth, was entirely without merit. She’s telling me she can’t park. What do you want me to do about it? Yes, I have a second stall out in the open where the bike was psudo-stolen. Pinned between the guest stalls and said neighbor’s monstrosity known as a Pathfinder.

I’m willing to let her have this round, but if I have to squeeze into my car every morning, then there will be a *real* “parking situation” for the property manager to deal with.

That’s right, I am back in the land of pineapple and palm leaves; and I’m quite happy about it.

Let me fill you all in:

Walked onto the ship way back in August. Road it to San Francisco and did practically nothing the whole time. The only reason they sent me early was to make sure that our equipment worked (I am, evidently, the only one who could do this) – which it did.

San Francisco was cool beans (photo’s galore); saw the sights, ate the sea food, etc. Then we went to San Diego (Scholars maintain that the translation was lost hundreds of years ago) and we sat around.

Then we participated in an exercise that was completely convoluted and the most disorganized experience I’ve had in a long time. Might I add we kicked butt too? That’s right, we rocked their socks. We made mad stuffing. We were possum. We made possum-sauce out of them.

And then we went back to San Diego and flew home.

While I was away, my lease ran out and my roommates moved my things out for me. So, naturally when I came back I didn’t have a place to live.

Of course, now things are a little weird for me because I don’t exactly live anywhere… At the moment I’ve crashed at a former roommate’s apartment until I go on leave (more on that later) and the actual deployment where I will miss every major holiday this year.

Before all this however, I need to move all my things into storage, take care of my car (the Jetta… yes, I own that still), and a variety of other brain-numbing tasks that will most certainly render me sick of life.

THEN I get to go home! Unfortunately I have to stay here long enough to take my physical readiness test. Which isn’t too far from now… but just enough to make me anxious and uncaring toward anything work related.

Dates to be determined.

I’ve ranted about the homeowner’s association before.

That time, they issued a fine because the lawn wasn’t GREEN enough. This time, however, they are more insidious.

A roommate of mine is on a deployment right now and left his car parked in front of our house. A neighbor complained to the HOA (witty acronym is being worked on) about it. So they towed it. Why? It had been sitting there for “24 hours or more.”

You don’t tow a car for sitting after 24 hours. ESPECIALLY when there is no posted limit, or announced limit of any kind.

There was no “suspected of abandonment” tag on the vehicle, there was no effort to contact anyone of the problem.

I am seriously considering buying the house I live in, so I can paint it fluorescent pink and lime with a canary yellow trim. Chew on THAT HOA!